


All our lives

by Tummalaulu



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major character death - kind of, Past, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 89,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tummalaulu/pseuds/Tummalaulu
Summary: A beautiful stranger. A bizarre conversation. A dangerous gift that makes Jon question his sanity, reality, his choices and feelings.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Dorothea Hurley, Jon Bon Jovi/Original Character(s), Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 267
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

A random bar. A random hotel. A random city. Random people around him. From all those statements only the last one was true and only partially. There was nothing random and nothing left to chance on a tour. Not for his band. Not for the last 25 years, at least. So it was not a random bar. It was the bar at the hotel he had given his approval for, in Dublin, a city that had won not only his OK for a show, but for two. The first one had ended a couple of hours ago and instead of being hauled to the airport to embark the plane for the next stop, he had been hauled back to the hotel, to this bar by his colleagues. David, especially, insisted and now he was nowhere to be seen. _Typically!_ Jon thought and took a swig of whiskey from his glass. He roamed the room with a slow glance, before he turned to his now almost empty glass. People, crew, tourists, and locals alike, sitting at their tables or at the bar like him, talking and laughing a little too loud to cover the music that was anything but ambiental. A bunch of beautiful young women that were there because they were there. The era of groupies might have fallen, but temptation and opportunities were still at hand. He was surrounded by smiles and promises, yet all he could feel was void. An insidious void that had captured everything outside him, but hadn’t made the final step and engulfed him entirely already. A void that got him trapped. Like in a dream, a lucid dream. He was painfully aware of who he was, and where he was, and what he was doing, and what others were doing, he was far from being detached from reality, but at the same time, there was a shadow of surrealness coating everything. Maybe it was normal when you lived with a ghost to become one yourself. He had learned how to mimic everything - joy, excitement, worry, happiness, nervousness, interest - and how to hide the only thing that didn’t need to act. Pain. Most of the days he could pass for a normal human being. On some days he could fool even himself that things had gotten not necessarily back to what they were, but to a new kind of normal. And then there were days, clouded and gloomy like this one, when nothing made sense and every breath was a struggle. Only two weeks into this second leg of the tour and he already felt exhausted. Why in the world had he thought Europe would be better than America? It was not even the same. It was way, way worse. Because America was home, but Europe was the land of past dreams and hopes that had all ended up in ashes. Places he had known through stardust covered lenses had lost their magic. The deception filter was applied to everything around him now. 

"Hey, life of the party!"

A hand landed on his back and Dave popped from nowhere on his left side, with his signature smirk in place. 

"What party? He asked taking the last sip from the glass." He gestured the bartender for one more. He didn’t like it particularly, but he hoped it would numb him enough to catch a good sleep. He needed one.

"More like what life. What’s with the face?"

"Tired."

"We are all tired, but you’re the only one attending a funeral."

"Can’t you just bang some chick and leave me alone?" Jon barked and he realized a second too late that aggressiveness, even one masked by sarcasm, was not a proper reaction. Not when it came to David who didn’t actually need to be told what Jon’s problem was. Not if he didn’t want to start that discussion that had been postponed for far too long.

"Oh, wow! How times change…" he noticed amusedly.

David was clearly in a better mood than he was. Sometimes he envied his friend’s capacity of detaching from the blackness of reality.

"Indeed", he cut him off sharply, because it would have been weird to just say he’s sorry for his bitchy comment. That would have alerted Dave in a nanosecond. "A few years ago you would have said you’ve already done it. Twice!" He continued.

He looked at his friend with a deadpan face, not knowing if to wish for David to call his bluff or not. It seemed that the other man was not really into deep discussions and diving into murky waters at that moment, because he put his left hand on his right shoulder and forced him to turn his back completely to the bar and to face the crowded room.

"Pick one, or two, or three", Dave waved his free arm - a gesture that didn’t remain unnoticed by the beautiful ladies now scattered all over the room, Jon sensed - "and let’s go!"

"Tempting", he said, "but I had sex two weeks ago and I’m totally good for at least two more."

Nothing from that sentence was true, but it was the kind of thing he was saying more and more often lately, directly or indirectly suggesting he was fucking old. And tired. Absolutely tired of it all!

"Dude…" Dave whistled and rummaged through his back pocket. "Here!" He said and slipped the finding into Jon’s hand.

"What the hell?" He exclaimed when his eyes landed on the small bottle of pills."Please tell me it’s Viagra and not some untested off the market drug", Jon gave his friend an equally worried and admonitory look.

"They are breath mints, officer!" Dave said with a faked innocent face that made Jon laugh which led to Dave bursting into laughter too. Jon handed him back the tube and they both turned to the bar where two freshly filled glasses waited for them. Dave took a sip then started to nervously play with the glass.

"I lied", he murmured, not daring to face Jon.

"Hmm?!" Jon almost choked on his whiskey. He was not totally surprised, yet it was something he had hoped would never hear again.

"I lied", he said and finally turned to face a panicked Jon. "They are not breath mints. It’s worse…". He noticed Jon stopped breathing in wait for his big and dangerous confession, so he prolonged his agony. "They are…", he leaned a little towards his friend and Jon did the same. "...they are M&Ms", he whispered in a low, secretive voice.

Jon blinked a few times not sure if he heard him correctly. He stared at Dave whose face didn’t betray any emotion.

"You’re sick, my friend!" Jon concluded and straightened his back.

"I’ve got all the colors. Red, blue...", David winked at him. "Oh, you should try the green one. First is free", he went on with the faux illegality.

"And totally not funny."

"Not true", Dave grinned. "I can see you smiling underneath that poker face of yours."

"Hmm…Can you? Why the heck do you have M&Ms in a tube of…"

"It’s vitamin C, for fuck’s sake!" Dave laughed. "My throat was a little bit soar yesterday, that’s all. Why would I hide sweets in medicine bottles? I’m not at that age…yet. Viagra age on the other hand…".

Jon rolled his eyes, making David laugh even harder. He was about to say another acid comment in an attempt to arrest his friend’s fit of giggles when something caught his attention. He could not tell exactly what, but he was pretty aware the atmosphere in the bar had changed. It had become charged, almost electrical, like in those peculiar seconds when you knew exactly what others were about to say or do before they actually did it, or even thought about it. David seemed unaware of anything strange and started a very mundane discussion about what should be on their tomorrow’s playlist. He was all ears for the conversation but kept a vigilant eye for anything new or out of its place around him.

After fifteen minutes or so he started to believe it was the whiskey that was playing tricks on his mind. It was, after all, his third glass. Fourth, if he was going to ask for another, a thing he definitely shouldn’t do, not if he wanted to be functional in a few hours. As a matter of fact, it didn’t matter what he wanted, he needed to be functional. He needed it, his band needed it, his crew, his fans, everybody needed it. He sighed and emptied the glass. And that’s when he saw her. At the other end of the bar, a pair of extremely sparkling eyes were pinning him. Watching. Calling. Waiting. He looked away, he concentrated at what Dave was saying, he tried at least, he spun the glass once, twice, tenth times and when he looked again nothing had changed. The sparkling eyes were still cast on him with a subtle smile in tow. The electricity felt almost palpable now and a familiar feeling started to build inside him, low in his guts. It was not desire. It was something else, primal undeniably, but way different. It was fear. His instincts screamed “Danger!” and he was on the brink of laughing at the lack of sense of that reaction.

"What distracted you so bad?" David asked him and turned to where his attention had been drawn. "Hmmm…nice ass!" David nodded appreciatively.

"Huh?!"

Damn he be if he could tell if her ass was nice or not, although the woman had turned and was now heading to the terrace with sure steps. Her long wavy brown locks were swaying in the rhythm of her walk and, for a split second, Jon had the sensation the air was liquid and whatever forces were holding the world together were about to break down and reveal the reality as it truly was, not as it was perceived by common mortals. 

_"I might be drunk…",_ he thought and shook his head.

"Yeap, definitely nice ass!" David confirmed once again the outcome of his intensive research. "Alright, then!" He emptied his glass and put it back on the desk with a strong clonk. "Have fun!" He said and stood up.

"Have fun?! What do you think I’m gonna do?"

"Read her a bedtime story, grandpa, I don’t care. Just have fun!" David smirked, leaving him no chance to come up with a matching backtalk. 

Jon watched his friend disappear into the crowd, making his way to the small group where Phil, Tico and a bunch of strangers were laughing God knew for what reason. Why the hell did he try to convince David he was outraged by his insinuations? He was no saint and his friend knew that. Oblivion hadn’t kicked in yet and the memories of their wild years were pretty much in place. Even the ones that maybe should have been forgotten. Back to the bar and he found his glass refilled again. He gave his watch a quick look. 1.30 am. It was a decent hour by some standards. By his own past standards. And now he could bitch about how the music was too loud. In a bar. At 1.30 am, for fuck’s sake! He looked at the spot from where a few minutes earlier a set of very bright eyes had drilled him. It was occupied by a man now, but he could still feel her invitation, no, her calling, lingering in the air. He noticed the atmosphere didn’t seem so electric anymore and the danger warning had vanished. It remained so even when he took the decision to accept that extra glass, chugging the whiskey in one big gulp, and even when he stood up and walked out of the bar, on the terrace. 

_This was no path to glory…_ he caught a line from the song that was currently playing and he smiled to himself. Who was to say if that was true or not? It was a matter of perspective. Was something glorious in what he was about to do, although to be fair, he didn’t even know what exactly his plans were? Definitely not. Could it be seen as such? Maybe. So who was to say what kind of path was he walking right now? Friends? Fans? Betrayed rockstars’ wives? Time?

_You always walked before me_  
 _But you came back to warn me_

The song continued, but the words remained suspended somewhere above and behind him.As he stepped into the cooler air of the night, the danger had been forgotten and other instincts surfaced.


	2. Chapter 2

She was alone. Leaning on her elbows against the balustrade, her back turned to the door and to the area where all the action was happening, she seemed rather indifferent to everything. Long legs, clad in tight leather pants, an asymmetrical dark green top covering only a fraction of that fine ass that David had raved about. She was good looking and she was not shy about showing it. He went near her and leaned against the balustrade too.

"I was starting to think you’re not interested", she said as soon as his arms touched the concrete, not even looking at him. She had a pleasant voice, almost velvety, with an inconclusive accent. She could be local just as much as she could be from any other part of the globe.

He didn’t respond immediately. It made no sense to act all unapproachable since he was the one that had followed her outside, but a little hard-to-get playing he could do. He liked determined women, however, he didn’t like the ones who acted like they owned him from the first second. Like it went without saying that he was disposed to crawl for the right pair of lean legs. He was a little bit disappointed in that start and there was no actual reason to be so. What the hell did he want? Spiritual connection? Meaningful conversation? What for? Wasn’t it better for both parts if everything was out in the open right from the start? When did he forget how these things were supposed to work?

"In?" He asked trying to keep a balance between unimpressed and interested.

"In offering yourself what you’re craving for", she said and finally turned to him. Her eyes burned him and when he turned to face her, their intensity took his breath away. That was the most unusual color he had ever seen and he vaguely wondered if she was wearing lenses. That combination of brown, green, and gold, especially gold, could not be natural. It took all his power to go along with his self-imposed distant attitude. 

"And what would that be?" He gave her his best superior, yet still seductive, playful smile.

A shadow of a smile passed over her full lips and he felt the desire to crush them with his own dangerously building inside him. A sudden gust of wind slightly waved her hair and filled his nostrils with her scent. It was familiar in a very strange way and it sparked his imagination. Slowly and steady, he was losing the reins of whatever game they were playing.

"You don’t know what you’re craving for, Mr. Bongiovi?"

She put the right amount of sarcasm and playfulness in that question to stay away from becoming insolent and making him turn on his heels and foot it from there. Besides, her question was valid. Did he know? _Yeah, you do…Sleep, you want to sleep_ , his very practical side emerged. Oh, if only he could get a few hours of good rest. He so needed it. He pictured himself peacefully sleeping in a big, comfy bed…in a bed where he was not alone. _Her, you want her_ , his somehow practical, but way more sinful side kicked in. Vivid images of her naked body tangled up in white sheets, her skin covered in beads of sweet sweat, nails biting flesh, her back arching in an ecstasy that consumed both of them, made him shiver inwardly.

"That’s only what you assume you should crave for", she smiled a little amused.

Was that evident he was having an internal battle over what he wanted or not? He used to be quite good at hiding those contradictory tendencies. On the other hand, he was the first one to say he was not what he had used to be, so it was possible to have lost some of that capacity.

"Since you seem to know me so well...", he made a pause so she could tell her name.

"Amser", her name came as a whisper in another wisp of air. It was unusual, perfectly fitting those hypnotic golden eyes, and it sparked again that first instinct that said “Danger! Run!”. He was not even amused by his urge this time, he was slightly confused. He was no runner. He was a fighter.

 _"God, I’m totally drunk! I’m having an internal crisis over being afraid of women or not. This must be a new low",_ he thought _._

The woman continued smiling like his thoughts, blurry, and contradictory as they were, were no secret to her.

"Amser", he nodded, "why don’t you tell me what I really want?" He dared her.

"Alternatives", she said like it was the most obvious thing.

"What?" he frowned. Her answer was anything but expected and was not even close to one of the few choices he would have considered correct.

"You want alternatives", she repeated.

"To what?" He puffed.

"To this present."

"You mean…alternatives as in …ways of escaping reality?" He tried a guess. "I’m not really a fan, if that’s your offer."

Her smile broke into laughter and small dimples, barely noticeable, torn the otherwise perfectly smooth skin. Her laugh felt palpable for a bare second, a shock wave that dissipated into the night before it reached him. 

"I’m not gonna drug you…or steal your soul."

"You came a little late for that", he whispered.

"There’s no such thing as late", she smiled and took his hand, effortlessly unfastening his watch while keeping the eye contact unbroken.

"What are you doing?" He asked, a tiny pinch of unease creeping in his voice. He didn’t care for that watch that much, it was just an accessory with no sentimental value after all, but being dispossessed like that didn’t feel appropriate.

"Not robbing you. Here", she slipped the watch into his other hand. "Don’t throw it away, it’s a nice piece of engineering, however it’s kind of misleading."

"How so?"

"It makes you think time is linear."

"And it’s not?" He was not intrigued by her words and couldn’t care less what she wanted to demonstrate, but he kept asking all the questions that seemed right to keep the conversation going.

"No, not really."

She let go of his hand and he noticed she had put another watch instead of his own. He bent his arm and looked at it. A multitude of dark, thin circles, some bigger, some smaller, concentric, or intertwined that made no sense, but triggered something in his mind. He had seen that kind of thing before, he just couldn’t recall where or when. 

"What’s this?"

"My gift to you. Use it wisely."

He was getting tired of this game that seemed to have no winner, hell, it didn’t seem to have rules. He sighed and he shoved his watch into his back pocket.

"Listen, this ' _I’m all mysterious'_ act is losing all its charm."

"I’ve only presented facts", she said not sounding at all offended by his remark. "You’ve asked yourself a lot lately what could you’ve done differently…"

"I think you’re mistaking me!" He abruptly interrupted her. More than being tired of her game, of his tour schedule or his problems, he was tired of people asking him what would he change, what would he do, what would he say if he could go back in time, always implying there was a key moment where he could go and make things different. No such moment existed. It was not all on him to change the current situation, why couldn’t people understand that? And what was the point in losing precious time thinking about the past? The past was unchangeable. You could learn a lesson from it, but you could not alter it. "I am at peace with my past", he said flatly.

"I wouldn’t be here if that was true."

He started to hate that I-know-it-all smile of hers. She was not even that beautiful. Eyes too unusual, lips too full, skin too smooth, teeth too white and straight, hair too silky, smile too…too…she had dimples when she laughed, for Christ’s sake…who was he kidding? She was beautiful! She was an equally attractive and crazy woman, the most dangerous combination.

"Just for the fun of it, let’s assume you’re right and I’d change a thing or two. So what? You can’t expect me to believe I can magically transport myself in, I don’t know, the 90s, just because I have this toy on my wrist…"

The absurdity of those words coming out of his mouth made him sound more amused than he was. Why the hell didn’t he go straight to his room after the concert? Just why?

"You know what’s the best thing about science?" She asked and actually waited for him to answer. He didn’t. He was done playing. "The best thing", she continued when he remained silent, "is it works whether or not you believe in it."

"Then can I have back the last three hours of my life? I feel I’ve wasted them."

"That’s not how things work." She was not even a bit bothered by his mocking. "But don’t worry, you’ll figure it out at some point. You’re a wise man."

He didn’t exactly know how to object to that and she didn’t give him much of a chance. With a sparkle in her eyes and a short tilt of her head, she took her leave and headed to the exit with those sure steps that made her hair and ass sway in the rhythm of her walking.

"I’m gonna kill Lemma!" He swore in her wake, under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

He was lying on the bed, with his limbs spread wide and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t kill anybody. David, just like the rest of the band, was not in the bar anymore when he had gone inside. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, it was impossible to have spent more on the terrace, yet when he had gotten to his room and had taken out his watch from the back pocket to put it on the nightstand, it showed 3AM. It felt strange, but he decided it was not the case to beat himself up over that. Whiskey and fatigue were not the best combination when it came to accurately track the passage of time. And they were definitely not the best duo to hold the room still. Every time he blinked, he was being thrown into a dizzying swirl. He hadn’t had that sensation in years. Not from alcohol, at least. Last time he had felt that intoxicating pit in his stomach so acutely was when his plane suddenly dropped a few feet. It had come along with sweaty hands, insane pulse, and foolish promises he would be a better man. The usual barter one would do when facing death and the kind that was forgotten the second after the danger was gone. It was not a nice memory. Now it felt quite pleasant. Like he was gently rocked in a huge swing.

He opened his eyes and waited for the ceiling to stabilize. He gingerly raised his left arm and analyzed the object that he still had on his wrist. _Amsa…Arma…Ama…Asma…What the hell was her name? Ah, who cares? Crazy woman, but damn she was hot!…_ He bent his arm and squinted his eyes, but those tiny circles were harder to control than the ceiling and all he could see was a jumble of uncertain shapes. Even so, the feeling he had seen that before struck him again. But where? And when? He knocked the screen with his other hand’s forefinger, then tried to rotate it. Nothing happened. He groped its margins for some hidden button but there was nothing. It seemed to be compact. And static. His vision cleared enough to surly see none of those circle was moving in any way. _Maybe it’s a hidden camera or a tracking device,_ he thought and on the next moment, he burst into laughter. Well, it was a stupid idea, yet it was more likely to be any of that than to be a time machine. If he had unfastened it and looked at the back, it would probably have a big Made in China engraved on it. He let his arm drop back on the bed with a sigh. He closed his eyes, the swirl didn’t falter to make its presence felt and he allowed it to cradle him to sleep. 

The morning light woke him up before his alarm went off. He was brushing his teeth when the annoying jingle broke the silence of the apartment. Actually, it was not that annoying - when the hell did he change it? - and he found himself humming along. He felt a little groggy, but he had no headache and that alone could be a reason to be happy. Especially when there were no other reasons. He looked at himself in the mirror. Despite the short amount of sleep, he looked quite rested. It could count as a little miracle because he had had that dream again and that always announced an awful day. Maybe he was not actively thinking about the past, but dreams were a different ball game. He could not control them and, once in a while, more rarely when he was home and pretty frequently when he was touring, a specific event would infiltrate and poison his nights. He could still remember what he wore on that day, what color Richie’s t-shirt was, the number of the hotel room, the smell of the bed linen, there were three oranges and a basket on the table, full of yummy cookies he had never eaten, the walls had a hideous color, and the draft made the bathroom door squeak from time to time. He could still remember all that because that was always the decor for his dream. Always! And it made no sense because in reality there had been no fight then. Nothing! Yet his mind had decided long ago that that was a good moment to come back to again and again.

_"God, I can’t wait to go home!"_ Richie plunging onto the bed after the final show from the US leg. 

_"You’ve said Hawaii wrong!"_ had been his response, delivered with a stupid smile, completely oblivious to what was about to come.

That had been the whole dialogue. In his dreams, however, it was never like that. In his dreams, all the anger, the frustration, and the pain accumulated over the years exploded in his words. He was always screaming, sometimes crying, he was always feeling he could not breathe, which invariably led him to wake up desperately gasping for air. He didn’t even know with whom he was fighting. Richie never responded. Never. He was always impassible no matter what he was doing or saying. One time he had begged him on his knees to not leave him and Richie didn’t even look at him. He was at his feet, hung on him for dear life, and Richie didn’t do a fucking thing. He had felt absolutely ridiculous when he had woken up. Other time he had punched him, but Richie, being only an illusion, not a real person, didn’t move an inch, didn’t even whisper an 'ouch'. He didn’t want to react like that. A few years ago, two, maybe three, the dream had transformed into a lucid one. Partially. He was aware he was dreaming, but he had no control over what he was doing. That had aggravated the situation even more. Not only he was mad at Richie, but he was mad at himself too for not being able to stop that nonsense already. Last night had been different, tho. Last night, when the alcohol-induced rocking had stopped and the imaginary Richie had plunged onto the bed, he hadn’t started screaming, or crying, or begging. 

" _I want to cancel this tour!_ " came out of his mouth and he was not even sure if he was referring to that past tour or to this one, currently ongoing. And then Richie moved. For the first time in years, something he had said impressed that illusion enough to actually move. Richie raised himself on his elbows and he looked at him like he was a lunatic. "Why are you looking at me like this? You’re sick of touring, right? Isn’t this what you wanted?" He was not mad, he was not sarcastic. More than anything, he sounded apathetic. And then the illusion spoke.

"Jonny, are you alright?"

"No. I’m tired. I’m fucking tired and you’re not letting me have a good sleep." That was an accusation, yet it didn’t sound like one. A robot reading the ingredients from a bottle of shampoo would have been more fired up than he was.

"What the hell did I do?" A confused, goofy smile, raised eyebrows, eyes widen in surprise. God, he would have punched him if he hadn’t known it was all in vain.

"Just go to your family, be happy, and let me be. Just…let me be…" he pleaded. He was defeated.

"Man, you’re scaring me. What the fuck happened from the doorway to here?"

"6 years", came his blunt response.

Richie looked more confused and worried. 

"Okeeey…", the illusion whistled. "Let’s put you to sleep…". Richie opened his arms and he took a step back in a fearful way. He would wake up the moment that phantasm would try to touch him and he didn’t want that. "Come on", Richie insisted with a calm voice, the kind of voice one would use to soothe a baby, "you need to sleep this off".

"Yeah…yeah, I do…", he sighed and didn’t back off when Richie made the final step towards him and caught him into a hug. It felt real, a solid body against his, warmth and scent of freshly washed skin and hair irradiating from it - he could still recognize that scent anywhere and anytime and he breathed it all in knowing that even in an illusory scenario that might be that last time he could that-, and he let his head drop on that imaginary shoulder just like, back in the days, he did on stage to the delight of the crowd. "I do", he repeated and sighed again as the unreal arms squeezed him harder. _Can you fall asleep while sleeping?_ He vaguely wondered. That had been his last coherent thought. That and the strange sensation the ghostly version of Richie was trying really hard to contain itself from crying. 

It had been a weird dream and, apparently, you could fall asleep while sleeping, and even get a good rest. Maybe his subconscious had finally followed his consciousness in ending that chapter and moved on. It was about time. He sprinkled cold water on his face, then went to the bedroom and changed his clothes. A knock on the door, voices, and footsteps in the hallway announced him everybody was ready for breakfast. He got rid of that useless object on his wrist, the only proof of a peculiar meeting he had no intention to mention to anyone - and if Dave dared to ask him something, he would sent him to Liverpool with a commercial flight, no, with the ferry - , and walked out of the room. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this chapter might be a little dark, I apologize for that. I am sorry for my lack of talent when it comes to poetry and lyrics also :) Anyway, hope I won't scare you with this one.

It was a nice Sunday afternoon, warmer than a day before, yet still chill for a summer day. He didn’t dislike the temperature, especially because in a few days they would perform in scorching temperatures for sure and the gesture of putting a jacket on you in the evening would be just something to dream of. 

"Whenever you’re ready", the technician gave his OK and he went to the microphone, grabbing the setlist from the man’s hands on the way. They didn’t have much to rehearse, there were only 4 or maybe 5 changes from the previous night, so they should end that pretty quick and maybe he would get the chance to take a walk and enjoy the city and the breezy weather a little. Too much time spent between four walls, no matter what space they delimited, always ended up as feeling like being in a prison. Yeah, totally! A short walk before the show would do him good. He glanced over the setlist. _This house is not for sale, Raise your hands, Bad Name, Runaway, Born to…Wait…_ Why was Runaway so soon? _Blood on blood? We played that yesterday_ … _Where the hell is Rollercoaster?_ That’s not what he and Dave had discussed last night at the bar. _No Bed of Roses?_ They hadn’t played it yesterday because they were going to do it today. What the heck was that setlist? _Have a nice day, ok…Keep the faith, ok…Saturday nights?!_ he frowned. _Saturday Nights?!_ What kind of joke was that?

"Lemmaaaa!" He yelled at his friend. He had lost hope Dave would grow up in this lifetime long ago, but it would have been so nice to save his practical, insipid jokes for another day. 

"Wassup?" A curly head emerged from behind the keyboards.

"Where the fuck is the setlist?" He barked at him.

"Uhm…" Dave looked puzzled. "In your hands?"

"In my hands?! Does this look like our setlist?" He asked him and stuck the sheet of paper to his chest. Dave fumbled to catch it, knocking a bottle of water in the process. Luckily, it had its cap on and no liquid made it on the keys. He threw an eye on the paper, but he delayed a response. Oh, he was good. The mother fucker was extraordinarily good at pretending he was more innocent than a nun, Jon observed.

"It looks OK to me", came his response that infuriated Jon even more.

"Are you high on M&Ms? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What M&Ms?" David shrugged.

"Oh, yeah...Vitamin C, my bad! Now cut the crap and give me the real setlist!"

David hesitated for a few seconds then handed him the sheet of paper. Jon expected for the usual smirk to appear, but no grimace, not the slightest trace of body language betrayed his act. He genuinely looked sincere.

"That’s it!" Jon exploded. "You’re gonna swim to Liverpool!"

"Cool!" Dave looked unimpressed. "But…what exactly am I supposed to do there?"

Jon was about to start a tirade on how unprofessional he was acting and how he would audition for another band if he continued like that, when Tico interposed.

"What happened?" He asked and looked directly at David.

"I didn’t do anything. I swear!" Dave defended. 

Jon snatched the paper from the keyboardist’s hands and gave it to Tico. 

"Bring me the real one, please!" He said and headed to the center of the stage. He didn’t make more than two steps when he heard Tico’s deep voice.

"This is the real one…"

He turned and sighed heavily.

"Not you too", he mumbled almost disappointed. He rolled his eyes and slightly shook his head. With Tico he couldn’t argue, the very few disagreements that had sparked between them over the years had been ironed out in a very civilized manner and it was something he didn’t want to change. He was sure Tico had the same view, so what in the world had made him adhere to Dave’s unintelligible prank? "We don’t have time for this. Give me a pen."

Tico and Dave exchanged a vexed look when Jon furiously took the already ill-famed piece of paper from Tico.

"Give me a goddamn pen!", he yelled at David who winced a little before complying. Now the whole band had gathered around them, everyone curious about why they hadn’t started yet and what was with all the shouting. He took the pen from David and started to make the right adjustments. _This one goes here, we don’t play this, ok, ok, move this one here, get rid of this one, hmm…maybe this fits better here…ok…Always as Encore…hmmm…maybe_ …He moved to the second song for the encore. 'Here without you'. What the fuck was that? It was unsuitable even for a bad joke. At least the schmuck could have used a known song that left no room for interpretation. He had no idea whose song was that and what twisted punchline might have had. _Oh well…_ he obsessively covered the letters in black pen. And then he saw the last song on the list. 'Stranger in this town'. What the hell was David thinking? What was he trying to do with this crazy joke? Was he offering an awkward helping hand or was he crying for help? They had never truly discussed what Richie’s departure meant for them individually. Everyone had dealt with it in his own way and, while he had clearly taken the bigger hit, the others hadn’t been spared from suffering. Maybe they should lay it out once and for all soon, but that, joke or not, was a little too much. He raised his eyes from the paper and pinned Dave.

"That’s Richie’s song", he pointed to the last line.

"Uhm…yeah…", Dave approved a little bit confused. 

"And why is it on the list?" He asked with a calmness full of irony. There had been times in the past when that song had been on the setlist and that was nothing strange about it, but it was not the case anymore. Surreptitious glances linked the men around him and he was starting more and more to feel like a strict professor who was trying to find out which of the naughty boys had sent the ball through the principal’s window, shattering it to pieces.

"Because", Dave finally built up enough courage, "it’s Richie’s and that’s what we do?" He mostly asked than answered. Tico gave him an admonitory look and the blond shrugged, defending himself with a short 'what' gesture.

"I’m sorry", Jon outburst, "did the band name change to Sam Bora and I haven’t been informed? And if it changed, where the fuck is he?! Huh?!"

A deep and heavy silence took over the group and the quick, furtively glances have been replaced by shocked and worried looks. All cast on him. A strange feeling that something was not right started to build deep inside him, but he was too busy being the egocentric band leader he so easily tended to be, to take notice of it. 

"Listen to me carefully", he said and looked at each and everyone in the eyes. "I don’t know what the hell were you thinking you’d obtain with this joke, but this has to stop. Now! With you", he pointed at Dave, "I’ll deal later. And you…", he turned to Phil, drilling him with his dreaded look, "what the fuck made you accept to play along with their charade?"

Phil leaned back a little like he was indeed scared of Jon’s authority and harsh gaze. He looked a lot like the brilliant kid who had gotten in trouble for the first time because he wanted to be part of the cool gang and now didn’t know what to do. 

"I…I…fu…shit…" he stuttered and look at Tico for help. "This is way over my head", he informed the drummer and went back to his place and made himself busy with the guitars.

"Ok", the older man came to rescue. "We’re losing precious time here. Tell us what song you want and will do it."

"We have over 300, pick one, I don’t fucking care! It only has to be ours!"

"Hmmm…", Tico seemed to think for a second. "Will do Living on a Prayer, is that OK?"

Jon gestured a “whatever” with his arms, and Tico turned to Dave.

"He loved this song too, come on, Dave", the older man pleaded for understanding.

"Fine!", the blond agreed reluctantly. 

Jon was poised to ask why the hell it mattered so much to Dave that the last song was one of Richie’s favorites, but he was too furious to address it as a simple curiosity. They would start fighting again and Tico was right, they were losing precious time. So he turned around and again headed to the center of the stage. Everyone except for Tico and Dave went to their places too.

"Give him a break, Lemma!", he heard Tico behind him. That man could not keep his voice down even if his life depended on that. "You know how he gets around this day…". He didn’t catch what Dave responded for the keyboardist knew what a whisper was. He also knew how to push Jon’s buttons.

"It was my song too, you asshole!", he yelled before Tico had the chance to cover his mouth and shush him. 

"Start a new band together then and you can play the fuck you want. You’re my guest!", Jon yelled back and flipped his middle finger in his direction. The heavy silence fell again over the stage and only Shanks, from all people, looked petrified at him and whispered a shocked “Dude…” which Jon ignored along with that annoying feeling inside him that had gotten bigger.

He didn’t go for any walk, instead he opted for a long, long shower. They had had weird rehearsals in the past, but this one topped everything he could remember. The more he thought about it, the more it made no sense. Even for a joke that got out of hand was too much. Any of them could have called it quits at any time and he would have grumbled one or two minutes more and that would have been all. Instead, they had kept going with pretending there was no problem with that setlist and he got more and more infuriated. Harsh words he didn’t truly believe had come easy to him and now they had a show in three hours, they needed to appear as a whole, and Dave was not talking to him, not that opposite was truer, Phil and Hugh maintained a solid distance from him, the kind you would keep from a mad, unpredictable man, and Tico, with a fatherly attitude he had never seen before, was trying his best to rein them all. And he was failing. The rest were walking like on minefield around them, knowing the tiniest wrong step could throw them into another absurd fight. It made no sense. That setlist made no sense, the fight made no sense, nothing made sense. He took his phone and unlocked it. He wanted to search for that unknown song that Dave had put on the list. The other two, though they were never to be played on a stage again, not by them anyway, were part of their repertoire. That 'Here without you' was not. That was a certain melody that title had inflicted in his mind and whilst the lukewarm water was falling on him he had caught himself humming bits of what probably was that song. He had tried to guess from what band it could be, however nothing came to his mind. He needed the almighty Google for that. There were probably tones of songs with that title, he couldn’t be that lucky to have hummed the first search result, but that was OK. He didn’t have anything better to do anyway. He filled in the song title and pressed search. The page loaded and he stared confused at the screen. He definitely hadn’t guessed it, because what Google was displaying as the first result was nonsense.

_Bon Jovi - Here without you_

Was it a cover he couldn’t remember? Something played maybe one time, at an obscure venue, million years ago and someone had found the VHS - it had to be a VHS - and brought it to light recently? No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t hit play, instead he searched for the lyrics. Those made even less sense. They were like a scrambled, gloomy version of 'Living with the ghost'. That song was far from a joyful one, but at least it had a ray of hope in it. It was about moving on. This one…

_The stars I loved all faded black_  
 _No dreams to chase, what’s left to hope_  
 _I found the tree, I have the rope_

What the actual fuck was that?! Those were not the words of a man who had won a battle and was ready to move on. Or at least willing to do so. Those were the words of a man who…those words were not his. They couldn’t be his.

_Here without you_  
 _Words cannot breathe life into once kissed lips_  
 _Can’t stop the shovel digging this grave_  
 _Till I can find a way to make all tears wine_  
 _Wine to blood and blood to life_  
 _Till we meet where they stop time_  
 _I’m here without you_  
 _We’re here without you…_

Poetic, but what the fuck was that? Why was he the credited author of those lyrics he had never thought of in his life? Not to the majority of them, at least. The feeling that something was hugely wrong kicked in again and this time it didn’t fade away just because he tried to shake it off. It grew bigger and bigger, the prickly sensation moved from his guts to his toes and fingertips and transformed in cold snakes that meandered through his whole body. With trembling fingers, he typed in Richie’s name and pressed search. Every brain cell was telling him that what he was doing was the stupidest thing ever, yet every cell of his body, governed more by instincts than by consciousness, already knew what that search would bring.

_'Richard Stephen Sambora was…',_ he read and it was all took for a strange metallic taste to invade his mouth. He moved his free hand to his mouth to check for blood, although again his mind was telling him that was ridiculous. Why would there be any blood? There wasn’t and the taste soon dissipated into waves of shock that coursed through his body. It felt a lot like a sudden release of adrenaline.

_It can’t be…_ his brain was still fighting that twisted reality Wikipedia and the whole internet presented. Next to Richie’s name, in brackets, the dates of birth and death were enclosing a lifetime he was absolutely sure had not ended. At some point there will be a date written, for everybody there was a date meant to be, but that date was not... _16 June 2014?!?!_ _2014?!?_ That was 5 years ago. Exactly five years ago...He threw his phone away like that device was responsible for what he had read and pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. A slight tremor in his body threatened to transform into uncontrollable shaking if he didn't take measures.

_Breathe…In…Out…In…Out…_ Again and again. He had to calm himself down otherwise he was liable to a heart attack.

_I’m still dreaming._ The longest and wicked nightmare in history. _That’s it! I’m still asleep._

But then the whole argument from earlier came to his mind, David’s fury, the confusion on their faces, the setlist, and all the bits that had made no sense then, made it now.

_That last glass of whiskey was spiked!_ That had to be. He had been drugged and he was having one hell of a bad trip. He had been through one before, it didn’t look and feel at all like that, but he had been through one before. He would make it this time too. All he had to do was to sit right there and wait for the effect to pass. At some point, it had to. Yeah, lay and wait! That was the solution.


	5. Chapter 5

Never in their existence had they been close to starting late because of him. Technical issues, unforeseen events, organizational problems, those were things he could not control entirely, and, once in a while, they occurred no matter how much ahead planning he was doing. Occasional excesses, especially in their early years, had perturbed their schedule, but to be late because he had overslept? That was unheard of. He didn’t even know how the hell had he been able to fall asleep in the first place. The fear and the shock should have kept him awake for a week. Maybe whatever had shorted out his brain and provoked those horrifying delusions had faded away and sleep was a side effect. It was a very likely explication, one he had greedily accepted. He had made a mental note to never accept drinks he hadn’t ordered, even better, to never drink something it didn’t come with its cap on. Going out would probably look like going through airport security, but it was a minor inconvenience he was disposed to bare if that was what it took to maintain his thoughts in place. Woken up by loud knocks on his door, he hadn’t had the chance to check with his phone if reality had been entirely restored, as a matter of fact, his phone was still in his room, because in the turmoil of getting ready in less than 5 minutes, his phone had not been a priority. Later, at the venue, he had switched to the usual “before concert” auto-pilot mode, a mode that didn’t allow him to casually ask one of his friends “So, tell me, is Rich still dead to you?”. The overall atmosphere was still tense, however, it was way better than the powder keg it had been earlier. He and Dave had barely exchanged a few words - and maybe a few hatred looks - but on stage, all disagreements had been put aside. He had gotten up on stage with the acute feeling he wanted everything to end as soon as possible, but after a few songs, the adrenaline and the crowd’s energy had worked their magic on him. For almost two and a half hours, the outside world had ceased to exist, and everything was just fine. Maybe they would cut each other's throats when the show was over, but at the moment, whether mimicked or not, everything seemed just right. 

They had one more song to do, the last notes from "Always" were fading and the intro from "Living on a prayer" was about to start soon, when something unexpected happened. One of the worst things that could occur while on stage. All the lights went off. With that specific sound that always accompanied a power outage, they had been left out in complete darkness.

"Oh no…", he whispered. _One more song, we had only one more song. How is this possible?_ He didn’t know what to do, what to check, or where to go first. Not that if he did, he could have done anything else except stumble on the first cable on his way. Night vision was not among his powers. His crew and the arena’s technicians were probably out of their minds right now running in all directions to make things right. He thought it would be nice to do one or two more songs to make up for this incident, if the power did come back soon enough, and his mind already started to browse through all their songs to find the best fitting ones. He could only hope Dave would not start again with his crazy options. Speaking of which, it felt kind of weird none of his bandmates had said anything. A gasp of surprise, a muffled bad word, nothing had come out of them and the feeling he was the only one who didn’t have a clue about was happening started to take shape in his mind. And then he heard Dave’s keyboard. _So the power is not completely down_ , was his first thought. He expected the lights to come on or maybe the other instruments to kick in, but nothing like that happened. Only the sound of the keyboards continued, a soft mourning enveloping them along with the darkness. A small light flickered somewhere in the distance, then two, ten, a hundred, a thousand, and soon the whole arena was lit solely by cell phone lights. 

" _That’s normal_ ", he calmed himself down. " _They want to see something_ ".

But then the crowd started to hum and he knew right there and then that nothing was fortuitous in what was happening. The energy coming from the audience changed drastically, it felt more united, almost compact, as if those thousands of people had suddenly decided to think and feel alike. At first, he felt it coming towards him like a gentle stream but when the humming transformed into singing, it hit him like a tsunami and it took his breath away. He had never heard that song the crowd was chanting in his life, yet that didn’t stop him from recognizing it.

" _No, no, no…This can’t be happening…Not on stage…_ "

His mind was veering again. He tightened his fingers around the mic’s stand as that had become his only link to something that could count as undeniable real. The voices intensified, a veritable choir now, and he could feel every word coming from the crowd slitting him open. His words. His never written words, never thought, never imagined. Yet, in some corner of his mind, he knew those were the words he would have totally chosen if he had lost Richie like that.

 _This is not happening_ , he kept repeating to himself to no avail. The power of the chanting crowd was overwhelming and when the last words made into the air, all the way through his brain and soul, he lost any trace of self-control. "We’re here without you" echoed in the arena and then Richie’s name was shouted from every single mouth and he lost it. The lights came back on and he was standing in the middle of the stage, petrified and with no power to stop the tears coming down. 

Five minutes of agony. That had been the last song. Five minutes of utter agony. He hadn’t heard himself and he hadn’t heard the rest as no IEM, no matter how performant, could cover the name of his friend, still lingering in his ears. Did he mess up the lyrics? He could not tell. Did he hit any of the notes? He had no idea. The only thing he was aware of was he hadn’t stopped crying. The crowd was cheering - _for fuck’s sake, why?_ -, he sensed Hugh was on his left and maybe Phil on his right, one last bow, and he didn’t know how to get off the stage quicker. He vaguely heard Tico asking him if he was alright, but he kept going with insecure steps, bumping into people and objects on his way. He didn’t know where he was heading and he didn’t make it too far anyway. Maybe halfway on the hallway that was leading to their changing rooms. The shock, the pain, the monstrous feeling nothing was right had all gathered in a poisoned ball in his stomach and made his muscles violently contract. Once. Twice. He dropped on his knees and threw up.

"Jeez, Jonny!" A panicked voice made it to his brain. 

He raised his head a little and saw Matt looking down at him absolutely horrified and worried.

"Hotel…Now…", he barely whispered before his body expelled another round of that envenomed mix.

He could not tell how he had gotten to his room. He only knew he had shut the door in Matt’s face and his poor brother was probably still knocking and shouting to let him in. He couldn’t hear him as he locked himself in the bathroom and turned the water on. He washed his face, he rinsed his mouth, and then he launched over the toilet as the poisoned bundle in his stomach made him sick again. 

"Wake up, wake up…", his voice came out weak and broken between his clenched teeth. "Please, wake up…"

There was nothing to come out of him anymore, yet all the right muscles persisted in painfully contracting. His mouth kept filling with bitter saliva and a very pragmatic thought, that he hadn’t been only drugged for fun or accidentally, but severely poisoned and he should immediately see a doctor, tried to ring an alarm bell. However, the image of the cell phone lit arena and the chanting crowd were so vivid in his mind that, real or not, he was undeniable sure he was under their effect. Maybe in real life Richie was perfectly fine, but in this universe, or dream, or what the hell it was this thing that was keeping him captive, the man was long gone and that fact was, simply put, unbearable. The void that had waited at the gates of his mind and skin for months, menacing and laughing at him, had finally crossed that barrier and invaded him. And it was worse than it had threatened to be. Cell after cell was being besieged. Everything inside him was collapsing under the pressure of that nothingness. His lungs were shutting down. He had to fight to breathe and he was losing his will. He had never experienced something like that, not even in his darkest hours. He was dying. His lifeline had been cut and he was dying.

"Wake up, wake up…", he implored between ragged breaths and tears. His fingers squeezed the toilet bowl so hard, no blood could supply them anymore. The ceramic or the bones, one of them would break soon, and he didn’t care which one came first. The physical pain was nothing compared to what that still nonsensical idea - that somewhere, somehow Richie no longer existed - was doing to him.

"Wake up…Please, wake me up…"

He didn’t know for whom that prayer was meant to be. He didn’t know what kind of divinity could help him, he only knew God had no longer his hand on him. With his legs numbed under him, with his arms hugging that toilet bowl, his head leaning on his left arm, he kept murmuring those words until all their meaning had been drained out of them. Ten minutes, half an hour, two days, he could not say how much time had passed when his lips finally mumbled something else.

"The watch…"

He had to find the watch. It was ridiculous and a part of him wanted to laugh so bad, but nothing that had happened in the last 12 hours could count as normal, so what did he have to lose? He was not in the position to eliminate a possible solution jut because it was phantasmagorical. In the end, it all started with that object, right? And with that beautiful and evil woman who hadn’t taken his soul, but his minds. He raised his head and tried to get up but he was feeling too weak. He was so dehydrated it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted already. Or maybe he had done it, who could tell? He started crawling towards the door and opened it with difficulty then continued his way to the bedroom. Where did he put it? In the morning he had thrown it on the bed, but when he had come back after the rehearsal it was not there anymore.

"Oh no…no…no…Come on, think!" With trembling hands, he threw all his clothes out of the luggage and checked every pocket, every crease. It was not there. Desperation was engulfing him again. He crawled to the nightstand. It was not there either. He checked the drawer. Nothing. He moved to the other side of the bed and checked that nightstand too. No watch. "Come on, please, please…", he resumed his begging. He didn’t know where to check anymore and he was feeling exhausted. He laid on the floor and he felt the tears starting to form again in the corner of his eyes. "Wake me up, kill me, just do something" he wanted to shout but he had no power. He turned on his side and he saw something glistering under the bed. He stretched his arm and he almost screamed with joy when he realized he was holding the watch. With newly gained powers he managed to get on the bed.

_What did I do the other night?_ He had knocked on the screen, he had tried to rotate it. He replicated that sequence. He had laughed at the idea it could be a time machine. Maybe he should skip that one. 

"Please work, please work…"

He wasn’t sure which of his actions had bend the time and threw him in that nightmare. That little thing still look as inoffensive and static as it did a day before. No blinking, no light, no move, no sound. _What else did you do?_

"The dream…I have to fall asleep and have that dream again…"

He squeezed his eyes shut so hard he started to see flashlights under his eyelids. He curled up in a fetal position, the watch tightly held in his left hand, and started to gently rock himself, murmuring from time to time a fainted “please”. It was absolutely ironic how for the last 6 years he had wished for that nightmare to stop haunting his nights and now he was begging for it to appear. And how for a whole day he had cried to wake up and no he was trying to fall asleep.

Caught between those two contradictory commands, his overwrought brain couldn’t seem to be able to follow any of them and he remained in an uncertain state, not asleep, not fully awake either, for the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

His mouth was dry, his lips felt painfully chapped, his throat burned and stung all the way down to his stomach, his eyelids were so heavy they seemed glued. He was alive, awake, and a wreck. And not quite ready to face the truths of a new day. Contrary to how he normally reacted in a crisis situation, on this particular morning he didn’t feel like quickly put in place some masterminded attack plan to resolve the problem. He didn’t have a plan and, to be fair, he didn’t know exactly what the problem was, if he had any. Maybe last night it had been clearer, but now he was not so sure. How could he be? If there was a problem indeed, he was caught between two bad options. He had either lost his minds or he had somehow gained the impossible ability to alter reality. But if he had done that, why in the world did he alter it like that? No, he was not ready for a new day. He was not even ready to check if there were any more reasons to question all that he knew. In the end, he could afford some more minutes of comfortable incertitude. Lying in that bed, with his eyes closed, it was easy to believe that the present was not that different from two days ago, that the past was how he had lived it, and that well-guarded object in his left hand had no potential magical and destructive powers. 

A muffled sound of a slammed door, followed by some unceremonious footsteps coming towards the bedroom made that dreamy state he so wanted harder to maintain.

"How’s the Sleeping Beauty?" Dave chirped like he had no care in the world.

"Ssssht", someone else shushed him.

That was strange. Why where there people in his room? How did they enter? His foggy brain failed to come up on time with a decent answer.

"I’ve seen them all now", he heard Dave really close to him as the man had leaned over him.

"Lemma, for fuck’s sake…". That was his brother’s voice trying to admonish Dave quietly.

For a second he feared he was not in the hotel anymore. A madhouse instantly became the happy scenario. In a coma, unable to move, unable to open his eyes, aware of what was happening but incapable of communicating in any way somehow became the most plausible one. What if the heaviness of his eyelids was not caused by dried tears and traces of bad sleep? Luckily, his eyes did open before any more crazy thoughts had the chance to invade his mind. Slowly, they listened to his command and, despite the needed focus for a clear view, he was sure he was still in his hotel room. He also noticed his bother was seated on the bed, at the end of it to not bother him.

"What? If any of us had been in this situation, he would have made a big fucking scene about it and you know it!"

Dave was clearly in high spirits, however, he did lower his voice a little, not enough to count as quietly. 

"Dave", he whispered because that was all his sore throat allowed him to do, "will you shut up already? Liverpool is in three days. We have time", he said and put one of the pillows over his head. 

Ten seconds of silence and complete darkness, before the pillow has been violently pushed away and he was brought back into the daylight. He had kinda expected that to happen. He had kept them on a short leash for so long, a revenge on the first occasion was not something to be missed.

"Liverpool?!" Dave frowned. "Liverpool?!" he repeated with a much more angered tone. "We should be on our way to Munich right now. What Liverpool?!"

If that city name hadn’t been so unexpected, he would have been impressed by Dave’s involuntary attempt on impersonating him. 

"Munich?" He mumbled and slowly sat up in bed. "It can’t be…Munich is in July", he said mostly to himself. "We are not in July yet, right?" He practically begged for a confirmation.

Dave and Matt looked at him like he was crazy and for good reason. He had never gone wrong with their schedule. Drunk, tired, waken up in the middle of the night, he always knew where he was and where they headed next. However, judging by the two men’s faces, he knew that that was more than a geographical confusion. The map was alright, the date was correct. The timeline, on the other hand, was absolutely fucked up. With that realization, the strange metallic taste invaded his mouth again and, just like the first time, it spread in his entire body as shock waves. An unpleasant tingling sensation that had the gift to chase away any trace of sleep and hope the things had reverted to normal. 

"Change your pills, man!" Dave gave him a pitiful look then turned and walked out of the room, slamming the apartment’s door on his way out.

"What pills?" He asked confused.

"Jonny...", Matt started but didn’t say more. Instead, he moved closer and reached his arm out as if he wanted to touch him. The movement, just like the sentence remained unfinished. It was bad. If his own brother was tiptoeing around him, it was bad.

"Can you give me some water?" He asked just to win himself some time.

Matt sighed then pinched his lips together, withdrawing his arm.

"Yeah", he nodded. "Sure…", he said and sat up. "You left the water running, by the way", he said before handing him a bottle of water.

"Hmm", he mumbled like that was just a minor incident. He opened the bottle and drank it all.

"Jonny", his brother started again. "I’m trying really hard here to not imagine things and worst scenarios, but you’re not making my job easy. I know it’s not my business, but… ". Matt inhaled deeply, as opposed to Jon who held his breath, until his brother finally continued. "If you…Just let me know if I can do anything, OK?"

Matt sounded like what he just said was a compromise between what he truly wanted to say and what he could. He surely looked like someone who was holding himself back from pouncing on him with harsher words and gestures. 

" _Act normal!",_ his defense system screamed although it was quite hard to say what normal was anymore. "I’m OK", he barely whispered. He was not, obviously, and some part of him was telling him he was a total idiot because he was acting all brave instead of looking for help. Any kind of help. 

"Are you? Because what happened yesterday…"

"Just a bad day", he decided to blame it all on his well-known moodiness and hoped his brother would not insist any longer. He didn’t want to lie to him and he didn’t want him to be worried.

Matt let out a light puff before he repeated Jon’s words.

"A bad day…". Again he shook his head and pinched his lips together. When did he get that habit? He did not remember his brother reacting like that to anything. Not to mention it was so not him to not say what he had to say. At that moment, Jon could not tell who was acting weirder. He or his brother.  
"Yeah, you know how I get around…", Tico’s yesterday words came to his rescue, however, he could not finish that sentence. It was absurd. "I’m fine…We should get going", he said and moved the blankets away. He got out of the bed under Matt’s incredulous stare. Jon was absolutely sure his brother hadn’t bought any of his assurances.

"Yeah, we should", Matt accepted his bravery for now and Jon could not be more grateful.

When he finally remained alone in the apartment, he took his phone and double-checked this new reality. Munich was indeed their next destination. They were still in June, no day had been skipped. It was 17th. Interestingly enough, his agenda did not hold any info about two consecutive shows in Dublin. Good thing it didn’t cross his mind to mention on stage something about a previous concert that had taken place only in …his mind? his universe? His reality? In the place he belonged. In the place where a Wikipedia page didn’t start with 'Richard Stephen Sambora was'. In the place he wanted to go back. No matter how crazy it was, he knew he had to accept this fucked up present in order to change it. The first step in resolving a problem was to admit you had one. He just did that. He was on a good track.

The human mind was a curious thing. On numerous occasions, it simply worked against its owner more precisely and ruthless than any enemy could ever do. One moment you could be extremely determined to follow a path - start a diet, get out of a bad relationship, learn a new skill, change a job, wake up earlier - and on the next, your mind would come with hundreds of excuses to delay it. Five more minutes, just one more bite, where would I go, who would want me, I have no talent, there’s always tomorrow, the situation is not that bad, it would be the same in some other place. Excuses, excuses. He always considered it was a matter of self-discipline and willpower. If you had a problem you had to do something, anything to resolve it. Problems didn’t magically disappear and he didn’t like people who indulge in unsatisfactory situations for far too long without taking any action. He would never do that. He would have sworn he would never do that, however that was his exact case right now. It was not only the fact he didn’t know how to switch on a watch that didn’t show time or the fact he didn’t know where he could find that woman again. His mind still had a hard time accepting the reality. And what was reality anyway? In the last 48 hours, he had found himself on many occasions wondering what defined reality beyond doubt. How did you know something was real? Was it enough that you felt a solid mass under your fingertips when you touched a table, for example, for that object to be considered real? If it didn’t vanish into thin air when you stumbled on it, was it real? If it hurt when you hit your leg against it, was it real? Was the pain real? Pain was usually considered an indicator of aliveness and realness, but pain made you real? If people were talking to you and the conversation made sense, were they real? If the reaction to an action was the expected one, if the laws of physics and common sense governed the scenery, was it real? And if a non-sense was believed to be true by everyone, it made it true, but did it make it real? Truly real? He didn’t know and, what was scarier, he didn’t know how to find out. _How the hell did movie characters adapt so quickly to mind-bending situations?_ He had wondered. How did they accept so easily that fantasy was not fantasy? There were movies, yes, and there was no time to show all the inner struggles, but come on, it was not realistic at all. OK, if there was a UFO hovering above the city, maybe it was not that hard. You were dazed for 5 to 10 minutes before running for shelter. You didn’t question your sanity. But when you were thrown into a reality you didn’t recognize? How the hell time traveling or parallel universes were answers that won to 'you might have a tumor' or 'you’re schizophrenic'? That had become his biggest fear and that led him to make a move or say something like he was always under observation and at the first sign of discrepancy he would be hauled to a mental institution. And just like that, he had learned he was still on phase zero with his attempt to solve the wrongness around him. It didn’t matter he wanted to accept this reality. His mind, or just a part of it, was not on the same track. Not yet.

Work, his usual escape, had helped him only partially. He hadn’t been able to fully immerse into a discussion or concentrate solely on one thing. He always had the tendency to have more active threads on his mind, however, he had easily shut down the problematic ones. Now it hadn’t been the case. How could it be when from time to time he felt the need to touch the things or the people around him just to check…he didn’t know what he was checking. All he knew was when those obsessive questions barged in he could not stop the swirl in his mind, the metallic taste from his mouth to spread into his whole body, the sheer panic taking over him. _Act normal!_ He was tired of how many times he had had to repeat those words. He hadn’t been sure if that counted as normal or not, but he had decided it was wiser to not fight with David, or any of them, over the setlist again. That never written song was impossible to avoid, the fans and his bandmates had made themselves very clear about that, so there was no sense to waste his energy on that. The last song had to be Richie's or Richie related. That much he had figured out. He didn’t know how the hell he or they had ended up playing those songs, that was something he needed to find out at some point, but this currently conscious version of him was not disposed to do it. He didn’t dislike the songs and he was not totally against the idea of playing them in his absence. He was definitely not thrilled about it, but it was not a thing to dismiss and never think about. However, if he wanted to do that, he had to learn them. Learning them meant listening to them. And that was a kind of pain he didn’t want to put himself through. He could kill to hear his voice again - fuck, he had even tried to call him just to find out the number was no longer allocated - but not like that. For now, listening to Richie’s songs was a big no-no. He had suggested 'Letter to a friend' instead and the rest had agreed. He could not be sure if they had founded it appropriate or they had been bewildered by his humble and calm tone, but everybody had accepted it without resistance. And when Tico had brought up the absence of 'Saturday nights' he had just said they would do it on the next show. He was ready. This time he was ready. The mistakes and the surprises of Dublin’s concert would not be repeated. Or so he had thought. As it turned out, it hadn’t been the case. Although he knew it would come, although he knew how things were about to go over, when the lights had been turned down and the crowd had started to chant, he had reacted in the same way. Maybe it was not a surprise anymore, but it was still overwhelming. The sound coming from the fans, their energy, their unity in coping with that loss had hit him again, leaving him breathless and with tears in his eyes. By the end of the last song, he wasn’t able to say anything, let alone sing. Again the crowd hadn’t seemed to mind and they had cheered louder than ever. And again his body had decided it was too much for him and shortly after he had left the stage he had puked his guts out. He hadn’t shut the door in Matt’s face, tho. Instead, he had assured him the whole way back to the hotel that he was alright. Reluctantly, his brother had let him alone and stopped the others from bursting into his room. 

" _You can check on me later if that makes you feel better_ ", he had said and slipped the key card into his brother’s hand. 

He had found out that Matt had provoked some fuss in Dublin to obtain the key card to his room and that was something they could easily avoid. He didn’t need it. The door automatically locked up and you only needed the key for entering. He had no plans of going out, as a matter a fact he just wanted to lie in the bed and knock himself with the sleeping pills he had founded in his bags. He didn’t know why he had them, but one would not kill him. His brother had pondered for a few seconds if to take the key or not, but in the end he had kept it and had left him alone. 

The problem with sleeping pills was they didn’t have the power to stop his thoughts and he was sentenced to deal with them until sleep took over him. He didn’t want to think of anything. He was sure this night would not bring any change, although he had put that ridiculous object on his wrist, and tomorrow seemed a good day to start investigating this actuality for clues of how he could revert everything. A quitter’s slogan, he knew, but he was damn tired. That too was a lousy excuse. He took his phoned and searched for his wife's number. He hadn’t called her in two, three…he didn’t know how many days. How would one count the days when he was jumping from a timeline to another?

"Hey…", he whispered when the ringing stopped.

"That bad, huh?" His wife’s voice coursed through him and tore down the walls he was trying to build. She was worried. She was suffering because he was suffering. And she had no idea how bad things really were.

"Yeah…", he tried his best to suppress his desperation and confusion from reaching her. It was more to comfort himself as Dot always seemed to correctly anticipate the depths of his problems. Even when she didn’t know what those were. "I love you…", he whistled. There were so many more things he wanted to say, but he started to lack the needed coherence. The sleeping pill was finally taking effect. 

"Please come home", he heard her like in a trance. She sounded more miles away than she really was. And …frightened? Neah, that was not possible. It was just his sleepy mind playing tricks on him. His Dot was never frightened. 

"I will", he nonetheless said with his last forces. Of course, he would come home. Where else would he go?


	7. Chapter 7

Armed with a glass of whiskey and his phone, he was more than ready to start his investigation. He was in a much better state, probably due to that sleeping pill that had made him sleep like a baby for the whole night. Part of the morning too. Eventually, the key he had given to Matt proved useful as for a half an hour his brother had called him in vain on his phone and for another five agonizing minutes he and Tico had knocked not very subtle on his door. He hadn’t heard a thing. Maybe like a baby was not the correct description. Like a log was definitely more suitable. Babies never slept more than three hours in a row and they always woke up crying because they were hungry, or wet, or scared of being alone in the dark. Whoever had come up with that saying clearly had never taken care of a baby in his life. According To Matt, they had struggled for a good ten minutes to wake him up or bring him into his senses. They had literally thought he had passed out. He had woken up confused by the buzz, but fresher than a spring flower. And, surprisingly, in a quite good mood. Hopeful. He had to admit that that pill was good shit, but maybe next time, if a next time existed, he would resume to only half of it. He didn’t want the SWAT team storming in his room again. Anyway, he had an investigation to conduct. He couldn’t just ask people around him about what had happened in the last six years without drawing unwanted attention on him, so he had to rely on the most unreliable source that was out there. The internet. They were on their way to Helsinki - why exactly their current tour schedule looked like an inept darts player had thrown arrows towards Europe’s map he could not tell - and that meant he had almost two hours to surf the web. Surf the web…was still a thing? He hadn’t heard that expression in a while. Kids today were probably as baffled as older people had been in the mid-90s about that saying. He sank into his seat and took a sip from his glass. It felt awkwardly early even for an eye-opener, but what he was about to do was asking for a little reinforcement. Wine, his poison of choice, could not offer him the needed kick. Before being courageous enough, he would be joyfully drunk, and he didn’t afford to be like that. He was on a mission. He had even saved some pages for offline viewing, just in case the WIFI on board would not work, a precautionary measure he was quite proud of, but one that proved useless. The WIFI was just fine. All he had to do was to start already. Maybe finding those missing pieces of information - how Richie had died, why everyone insisted on that 'Saturday nights' song, why the fuck they were putting themselves through hell at every concert - would make his mind accept this universe. It was his only hope anyway. He took another sip and unlocked his phone.

_Let’s see…what has brought your end, my friend? Besides being in this…whatever this is._ 'Richard Stephen Sambora was…', he read again. God, he hated that word. _Was_. So formal, so definitive. He sighed and moved on. 'American rock guitarist…'. _Blah, blah_. 'Best known for …'. _Whatever_. He knew better then Wikipedia what Richie was. '…died in a car accident…'. _Oh no!_ …He suddenly felt cold shivers down his spine as his mind raced back to when Richie had been arrested for drunk driving. _Please tell me you were alone in the car!_ Impatiently and with a heavy heart, he read the rest of the paragraph but he didn’t find any mention of another victim. He still could not be sure that that poorly documented description was accurate enough. He typed in Ava’s name and only when the page loaded and no death year appeared, he was able to let out a relieved breath. _Oh, kiddo, what a scare!…_ He looked for a few more seconds at the picture of a smiling Ava. She looked like him. Everybody was saying she looked just like her mother, but if you had the chance - and he had had it - to see baby pictures of him, you’d see the resemblance was past question. How was she in this madness? If it was so hard for him, how it was for her? He reached for his glass and almost emptied it. His little reinforcement looked like it needed some reinforcement of its own. _OK, so a car accident…let’s see what we can find out about this one._ To his surprise, not much. So this is how people felt when they didn’t find the desired details about their idols. _Being secretive came back to bite my ass, huh?_ No mention of booze, or drugs, or even speeding. Not from Richie’s part, anyway. By all appearances, it seemed the mere definition of an accident. Another driver had lost control and had hit exactly his side of the car. Bang! Dead on spot. His body aggressively shuddered at that thought. One second you were and on next you were not. He drank the rest of whiskey in one big gulp, then let himself sink back into the chair and for a while he stared into space. That was some hard fact to assimilate. It probably had been even harder in 2014. Two departures within a year, one more permanent than another. That was harsh. And yet, something didn’t add up. Richie’s accidental death in 2014 couldn't have led to an in-memoriam moment of that amplitude at every concert. Could have totally led to him being a bigger wreck than he was, but those choices of songs made no sense. Even in his current wicked situation, when he kinda was a mix of two worlds that had collided, he could not see how 'Saturday nights' or any of Richie’s songs outside the band could become a thing. Play a tribute to the man after the initial shock had passed, no matter how long it took? Yes, no doubt. But that was a ritual, not a tribute. And what the hell was so special about a song from an album he had made it only to be made?

_Look at that…,_ he stared at the phone with a bewildered, almost admiring half-smile on his face. That song had a Wiki page of its own. And it did not consist only of its title and two empty words. It was quite a story. 'The last song recorded for the Burning Bridges album became the last song ever recorded with guitarist Richie Sambora and a public’s favorite. _' What the hell?_ That was definitely not the last song they recorded for that album and Richie was not with them at that point. It was quite hard to tell what song had been Richie’s last, as the majority of the recordings didn’t end on an album quite immediately. Sometimes it was even a matter of years. Anyhow, he was one hundred percent sure that 'Saturday nights', album version or just a recording forgotten in the studio, was not his last song. That page was total bullshit. Or…? A strange inkling started to bother him. He went again on Richie’s Wiki page and quickly scanned it. Not a word about his departure in 2013. Not a single one! That was crazy! Whoever maintained that page had exaggerated with the 'don’t talk ill of the dead' phrase, that was for sure. Leaving a band was not really a sin. He typed in 'Sambora departure' and waited for the screen to fill with hundreds of links to interviews, news, magazines or videos about it. He pressed the More results option twice and he couldn’t find one. In all, if departure was mentioned, it equaled death.

_He didn’t leave!_ The realization hit him and left him in complete awe.

"Hey!"

Dave’s voice scared the shit out of him and made him drop his phone. It landed under the table after his ridiculous and inefficient try at catching it.

"Jesus, man! Do you wanna give me a heart attack?" He brought his hand to his heart to exemplify what an impact his sudden appearance had on him.

David looked unimpressed at him.

"Whatcha doin’?"

"Not much", he mumbled half buried under the table in search of his phone. He grabbed it and made sure the screen was off before he squeezed it between his thigh and the chair’s arm. "Why?"

"Just wanted to see if you’re OK."

Dave totally sounded like he had been forced to come up and talk to him. They were still on thin ice after that incident.

"Isn’t it nice of you?", he ironically responded. He didn’t know why he did it. David had all the right to be mad at him. He had practically sent him to kill himself and form a band in the Afterlife. That was quite shitty even by his standards. "As you can see I’m fine…". He still sounded too mean. He only wanted to get rid of him quicker, not to provoke another fight.

"I think you forget you’re talking to a professional here. Don’t you know how many 'bad days' I’ve had in my life?", Dave air quoted those words that had been used to describe the last few days.

"Your record is still in place, don’t worry!"

He felt sorry the second he let out of those words, but not enough to apologize. Dave pierced him with his stare then turned on his heels and walked down the aisle to where the rest were gathered.

"I’ve tried. Happy?" He heard him shouting at Hugh. Or maybe at Tico. He was not sure.

He took his phone again, although he didn’t know what to search for anymore. Richie had never left. What was to be searched? Why he hadn’t done it? That was impossible to find out. Was it something that he had done in that dream that insist on not haunting him anymore? What had he told Richie then? That he wanted to cancel the tour? Had he done it? That seemed a little farfetched, but he searched for canceled shows anyway. Nothing to count as considerable. Then why the hell had Richie come back after the vacation? It made no sense. All the invoked reasons were still there, he had not done a single thing that could have changed Richie’s mind and yet the man had stayed. And he had died. It didn’t seem to be a casualty between the two events - his death had been an accident, one that could have happened regardless of his status in the band - but it was the only one he had. It occurred to him now that even if had had the dream by now, he wouldn’t have known what to do. What to say. 'Don’t die!' was not really an advice. 'Leave! Run for your life!' sounded more like one. So that was what he had to do. He had to make sure Richie would leave the band when he initially had done it. Now, if only he had that dream again. He didn’t know how many more Richie related songs he could come up with before being forced to learn his albums by heart. And he didn’t know how many more crowd chants he could endure, because an immunity he didn’t seem to be able to develop.


	8. Chapter 8

If he didn’t want to ever hear that chant in his life, he had to act quick and precise. If by the end of the night he didn’t manage to induce himself that dream, tomorrow evening he would again be doomed to stand in front of thousands of people and cry like a twelve-year-old girl watching Titanic. Titanic? More like how twelve-year-olds' moms were crying at it. Titanic had been a hit in another century. Hell, another millennium. Literally! What were girls crying over these days? Twilight? No, even that was so yesterday. Some boy band splitting? That was always a good reason and boy bands had the tendency to spring like mushrooms after rain and disappear even faster. But that era was in the past too. Some heartthrob he had never heard of in his life getting a new girlfriend? Yeah, that seemed plausible. " _Or maybe getting married out of the blue?_ "a little voice chirped in his head and he started to laugh so suddenly he almost choked. He rolled on his side until the unexpected giggles stopped. He took a deep breath and returned to his previous position, lied back on the bed with his arms spread like a lame Jesus and with his eyes pinned on the ceiling. _Well, you did hurt more than 12-year-olds with your move._ It took him many years to understand why his friends had not been over thrilled by his gesture. It was not envy, they had not thought he had made a huge mistake, it was not even the fact they hadn’t been happy for him. They had been. And they would have expressed it way better if he hadn’t cut them the chance to be there for him. If he hadn’t excluded them like they didn’t matter. They had been happy for him and hurt at the same time. Those contradictory feelings could coexist, but that was a thing he had understood many, many years afterwards, when it didn’t matter anymore. _Yeap, I’m drunk!_ he concluded with satisfaction. That was the only difference he had found between the night when he had accidentally changed everything and the next ones. On that night he had been well soaked in whiskey, not in his own tears. After half of the bottle of whiskey, he was the same now, although the room refused to spin with him. He didn’t think it was that important. He had repeated all that ridiculous ritual actions - knock, rotate, search for a hidden button, stare like an idiot at some absolutely still circles - which made him feel like that tennis player who couldn’t serve before obsessive- compulsively fiddling with his shorts. Or his underwear. Man, it was so disconcerting! What was his name? How the hell did he forget it? He and some of the guys had watched the French Open’s final about two weeks ago. _Yeap, drunk!_ Undeniable drunk. His risible and random thoughts were the evidence for that. Or maybe he was close to falling asleep. Sometimes, right before losing all connections with reality, his thoughts felt a little funny, making perfect sense then, but none if he were to be fully awake. He used to like that sensation of suspension between two worlds, when everything was blurry and clear at the same time and he could see reason in every absurdity. He wasn’t so sure he would ever enjoy that again, because there was always a moment when lucidity kicked in and he wondered if he was indeed falling asleep and not losing his minds. That question did not have an obvious answer anymore, moreover, he was inclined to go with the second option. _Nadal!_ popped in his brain with vivid colors and a small snap. Nadal was his name. Oh, he was so far away from shutting down his brain. Maybe he should have gone for one more glass. _Yeah, and then you’d have slept on the bathroom’s floor_ , he scolded himself. He yawned and flopped on his stomach. His sleeping position could not count in that process of rewriting history and the sudden move induced a little spinning-floating sensation in his body. That was a good thing he supposed. Did other people experience that nonsensical transition from awake to asleep? Did other people’s brains take half-thoughts and combined them into a revolutionary discovery that would transform into gibberish when trying to focus on it? A long, long time ago he had asked Rich about it, but the guy was already snoring when he had finished explaining what was happening in his brain in the moments before sleep. Nothing unexpected. Rich could literally fall asleep on his way to the bed and he had truly envied him for that. But it was very likely that Richie had experienced some of that sensations and thoughts. In common language, it was known as being 'high as a kite'. In Jon’s dictionary, it was only falling asleep. And people wondered how come he had stayed away from drugs. He didn’t need them. Plain simple. He didn’t need them to semi-hallucinate. Like now. When he could clearly feel that he was moving, ghost-like, through complete darkness without being afraid or lost. It was weird. He couldn’t see shit, yet he knew exactly where he was going, avoiding all the obstacles. Yes, he knew there were obstacles - walls, stairs, doors, was it a hallway? - and he was perfectly aware of their configuration in space. He knew it and didn't know it at the same time. With every taken step - was step the correct word when he was more floating than walking? - he felt lesser and lesser aerial. Like he was incarnating. Particle by particle he was taking flesh. Alongside that, his senses seemed to be slowly restored, a light turning brighter and brighter and transforming that familiar obscurity into a familiar scenery. The smell, the squeaking door, the hideous color of the walls, the three oranges on the table…

"Oh, shit, the dream…I did it…"

And then the voice.

"God, I can’t wait to go home!"

He watched in awe as Richie’s body started its falling onto the bed, almost in slow motion. A move he had seen a few days ago but seemed a lifetime away. He launched at him, catching the neck of his shirt in his jump, then landed on him with his full weight. He didn’t really calculate his approach and a surprised and kind of painful 'oof' left Richie’s lungs. Before he could realize what was happening, Jon straddled him and shoved both his fists in his shirt, causing Richie to remain in a slightly suspended position. Oh, how he wanted to hug him! If things didn’t work out properly, that would be his only chance to ever touch him. Feel him!

"Listen, to me!" he started desperately. "Don’t come back! Whatever you do, don’t come back!"

"What the…?"

"Don’t come back! I’m serious!"

"Come back to where?" Richie asked totally confused.

"On the next…", he stopped mid-sentence and let go of Richie’s shirt, causing the man to lie flattened on the mattress for the second time in less than 20 seconds. Apparently, he hadn’t calculated his speech either. Or maybe he had never truly believed that Richie hadn’t planned his leaving way before. Judging by his friend’s growing confusion, he realized he was in the situation of convincing him to stick to a plan he didn’t have yet.

"On the next what? Leg? What the hell, man? Are you firing me?" Richie recovered and stood first on one forearm and then on both. 

"What?" Jon whispered. It was his turn to look lost. "God, no!" He said before he had the chance to analyze that option. But no. He didn’t want to fight with him, he just wanted to be sure he would make the same choice again. How could he be sure? What could he do?

"Get off me, you nutjob!" Richie said nervously, squirming under him, but not pushing him away.

"Sorry", Jon mumbled and rolled over.

Richie got off the bed and looked daggers down at him.

"So that’s it? After 30 years you can’t find a better way to tell me you don’t need me anymore?"

"That’s not what I said", Jon defended. "And you are the last person to give me lectures about goodbyes after 30 years!" He spitted out. A word before, a call after, the guts to tell him in his face that he was done. Why had Richie considered he didn’t deserve any of that? What did he do so fucking wrong that Richie didn't give him anything? And why the hell hadn’t he seen it coming? Sometimes he didn’t know which of the two angered and saddened him more. One thing was clear, tho. This dream started to look more and more like the usual ones. All that was missing was for Richie to freeze at some point and let him yell in vain.

"What the fuck is this supposed to mean?" Richie confronted him.

"Nothing", he shook his head. "Nothing…"

"Do you really think you can just replace me? Like I’m a pair of socks, not a human being...not your friend?!", Richie raised his voice significantly.

"No…", Jon barely whistled. It was not fair. That was his anger that Richie was throwing at him right now.

"It all resumes to what the great Jonny wants! It all came down to only that, huh? We are…"

  
"What I want?!" Jon cut him off harshly and stood next to him. "It doesn’t matter what I fucking want. I’ve never asked for any of this", he gestured with his arms at the room, "but here I am! Trying to make things right…"

"Right?! What the hell is right in what you are doing now?" Rich was up in arms for something he alone would have chosen in a short time, Jon realized.

"Everything. But you can’t see it now."

"Oh, enlighten me then!" He condescendingly sneered.

"Listen to me, fool!" Jon clenched to Richie’s shirt again. "It is not a matter of wanting you in the band. I always wanted you and I will always want you. Even when you’ll not be there anymore I will want you. And don’t ever think that I don’t need you, because I do. I need you more than I could ever imagine. But none of this matters, don’t you get it?" He felt tears forming in his eyes. Yeah, it totally looked like the haunting dreams now, with him crying and screaming and Richie resembling more and more a pillar of salt. "It doesn’t matter if…". He could not say it. He could not say it out loud and it made no difference anyway. _'_ You’ll be dead by June 2014 if you don’t leave now _'_ didn’t seem realistic. _'_ I’ve seen the future, which kinda is the past too' was not something someone sane would say. And totally not something a sane person would ever believe. He didn’t know how this madness would continue. This Jon whose body was using right now would remember anything tomorrow? Was he planting his ideas in his mind right now? He doubted that. Last time he had said he wanted to cancel the tour and he hadn’t done it, so it was very unlikely to leave something from his own consciousness behind. Whatever he was doing, it had to have an effect there and then. He let his head drop on his closed fists and sighed. "You have to go, Rich", he said softly. "And I have to let you go…". Maybe this was the alternative the kookoo lady had talked about. Six years ago he wouldn’t have understood, but now he got it. Maybe it was all about coming to terms with their friendship and partnership coming to an end. 

He felt Richie’s hands on his shoulders pushing him away a little violently. He could feel the man's anger irradiating from him and he saw it dissipating when their eyes met. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Richie asked him. He wanted to sound furious, but it came out unconvincingly. "You’re not making much sense", he said even with less anger in his tone.

"I know. And tomorrow I will make even less. That’s why you have to promise me now that you’ll not come back for the next leg. I don’t have much time here and you have to promise me…"

"What do you mean you don’t have much time?" Rich asked him a little frightened. "Dude…"

"You don’t want to come back anyway. Don’t look at me like this", Jon shook his head as a tear rolled on his cheek. Didn't he say the exact thing last time? "You don’t and it’s ok. Being in a rock band is not a life sentence". A sad smile passed over his lips when he said the exact words Richie would say in a few years. He took his hands from his shoulders and kept them into his. I love you to death, Rich. Don’t you ever doubt that. I love you to death and beyond it, I guess. Look, I don’t have more time …"

"Would you stop saying that? It scares the shit out of me!" Richie released his hands from Jon’s. 

"I say it because it’s true". He could feel it. Just like he had felt the incarnation he was feeling now the disintegration. His and the scenery's. It was becoming translucent under his eyes. Didn’t Rich feel it? "I’m not leaving anywhere, but I’m not going to be here…so you have to promise me…"

"That I’m gonna leave?!"

"That you’ll follow your heart", Jon smiled. "Yes", he nodded. How come he hadn’t thought of that before? That was the answer, the way. "Just…promise me you’ll listen and follow your heart".

The last thing he saw before oblivion engulfed him was Richie biting his lips like he was trying really, really hard to contain himself from crying.

When he truly woke up it was morning and the alarm was ringing his brains out. He fumbled between blankets and pillows and snatched the phone from the nightstand, eager to see what Wiki was saying now. 

"Please", he begged with his eyes tightly closed whilst the page was loading. "Please be _is..."_

'Richard Stephen Sambora was…'

"No!", he yelled. "No! It can’t be!" He checked everything. Same date, same reason, and not a mention about leaving the band. "No, no, no!" he kept repeating. That was his only chance. That was his only idea. He was standing in the middle of the bed, on his knees, with his only hope shattered to pieces, not knowing what the hell to do next. He was truly fucked! As that thought was sinking into him, raising his pulse, heaving his chest, he took notice of the surroundings. From his left to his right and back, he checked out the room. The more he saw, the more intense the sensation something was deeply wrong took over him. It didn’t take long for the metallic taste to explode in his mouth and body once again. That was not his hotel room. Moreover, he was inclined to believe that was not his hotel. And how could it be? Normally, they would have been in…what day was it? 20th? They should be in London. But if he was in London, that meant it was a big chance that shit had become permanent. That Richie was forever gone. With trembling hands, he unlocked his phone one more time and checked the location. 

"Paris? How the fuck did I get in Paris?!" 


	9. Chapter 9

The only thing he had managed to accomplish by having that dream was he hadn’t cried like a twelve-year-old girl in front of thousands of people in Helsinki. He had done it in Paris. And in Lyon. A big change indeed! The truth was he couldn’t find any major differences between those two horrible universes in which he had slipped, once by accident and once because Richie had completely ignored his foolproof advice. If two days ago he had woken up in Helsinki, not in Paris, he wouldn’t have noticed the dream had some effect. Richie was still dead, 'Saturday nights' was still a thing and he still needed to avoid Richie’s songs. It wasn’t so hard now as in this universe he hadn’t done it a few times already and, the best thing, if a best thing existed, was that Dave was not mad at him and his band didn’t look at him like he was insane. Well, not yet. Despite all his efforts, he simply couldn’t help himself when the crowd started its chanting. In Paris, he had tried to empty those words of any meaning. It didn’t work as with or without one, the energy was undeniable staggering. You didn’t need to understand the words or to know the story behind them to be affected by them. It was the kind of performance that transcended any language and culture barrier. A major step up tho was he hadn’t felt the need to puke his guts afterward, so Matt was not on his tail anymore.

For Lyon, he had sketched a different plan, but an interview he had had to give before the concert had foiled it. It was not the weirdest interview in history, but it had easily made it to a top 3 because some of the reporter’s questions had gotten only a baffled face as a response from him. Thank God for his habit of wearing sunglasses even in dark hotel rooms. It had partially saved his ass this time. ‘Cause what the hell was he supposed to say about the fact they were still able and willing to roam the world tirelessly, day after day for more than a year? They weren’t. In his world, they absolutely fucking weren’t. They had slowed down considerably. In this one, maybe in the last one too, they were moving from town to town, country to country, continent to continent like there was no tomorrow. And it was not the only thing that surprised him. This European leg, although different from the previous one, still looked absolutely disorganized, with cities chosen as if the only rule was to be as far as they could be one from another, and almost no rest days. They were zigzagging the map of Europe like they were running from a very determined sniper. From Lyon to Oslo and then to sunny and so far South Lisbon with only one day pause. That was a logistical nightmare and he was almost sure that that single rest day was actually only a chance for the crew to put all the things in order, not at all a needed break for them as a band. It was like he hadn’t learned anything from previous exhausting tours. What was this Jon thinking? What was he doing? That, unfortunately, was not something he could find on Google. And not something he interested him too much. It wasn’t like he would stay there forever. Sooner or later, he would find a way to go back and he didn’t need to get to know this version of him. He didn’t want to know this version of him who had had to face Richie’s death for real. It was enough he was walking in his shoes now. He had mumbled something about Rolling Stones still going strong at their age because he had to give an answer, and whilst he had said that he had wondered if Mick Jagger was still alive or he had blundered big time.

Wanting to ask something about that painful ritual they were doing, the reporter accidentally had offered him the info about how it had started. He had stated that he preferred to do it and not to talk about it, which was total bullshit, but it had shut the man’s mouth and had established the boundaries of that conversation. When the interview was finally over and he had remained alone in the room, he had opened YouTube and searched for that song. According to the reporter, the fans had triggered that ritual by spontaneously starting to sing the song at the end of a concert. The first video he had stopped on started when only a small number of people were singing to a stage swarming with techs and roadies packing instruments and gear. Filmed from a higher point, next to the stage, the footage made it clear it hadn’t been something meant to be big. In the chaos of exiting the venue, a few fans had decided to sing that song that was never written to be performed on stage, that much he could say for sure. Maybe it would have stayed a minor event if it hadn’t been a special date. July 11th 2018, the description of the video stated. Richie’s birthday. Not exactly a date to celebrate since his departure in the original world, but not a date with a rich sense of sadness either. The camera had captured how at first people hadn’t understood what was happening. Some had looked absolutely puzzled. Some had smiled when they had recognized the lyrics. Some had stopped. And some had even turned around. Soon, a stadium that should have been empty was still fully packed and singing in unison from the bottom of everyone’s hearts. And then the camera had slightly moved to include part of the stage. One by one, the whole band had come back and lined up in awe in front of the crowd and the crew had stopped from their work and gathered in the back. The focus alternated between the crowd and the band, capturing their raw emotions. From left to right, from the oldest to the newest member, they had all been hit hard by the fans’ impromptu performance. He had looked at Tico and had wondered if he had ever seen the man crying like that. He had looked at a Dave who bit his lips to blood and closed his fists to the point of breaking his fingers. A complete mess. Next to him, Phil put a hand on his shoulder, a small gesture of support that proved to be the last straw for Dave who broke down and cried like a child. And he had looked at himself, a very good lookalike whose true feelings and thoughts he did not know, standing in front of the fans and accepting their pain, their way of grieving. He had written a song, but they needed to sing it. When fans’ voices united for the last time to shout Richie’s name, even the guys from the back lost their composure and burst into tears. The Jon on-screen looked at a teary Hugh, then at a very emotional Tico and a small nod from the three men had told him that had been the moment when that song had become what it was now. A moment of bonding, a way to remember and to move on at the same time. Just like in real life, he was not the only affected one, but in this one, it seemed he had acknowledged it not solely at a declarative level. Everyone was hurt, it was plain simple. They were all in that mess and, for that short time, it felt like they were facing the madness together. Even if it was not so. He had closed his phone and decided he would not try to stop his tears anymore. Why would he? In the worst-case scenario - the one currently ongoing - his friend, best friend was dead. In the one he wished to come back to, his friend was alive but absent nonetheless. The whole situation was stressful and with no evident ending point, so a few minutes where he could let out all his anger and frustration were more than welcomed. Let there be tears! Anyway, after he had seen that video, he was sure he was not the only one crying his soul out.

One mystery had been debunked, but there were still more than plenty to elucidate. And Google was no real help. He could not access some random site and find out what the hell had happened after his consciousness had left this Jon’s body in a scene that had happened both 6 years and 2 days ago, for example. He had been so sure he had found the perfect prompt, he had been so sure he had given Richie the illusion of a choice when in fact there was no choice to be made. Ava was not a choice. Ava was Richie’s heart and soul and everything. Why the hell he had come back and hadn’t stayed with her, he could not figure out. If that had ever been a hard decision for Richie to take in the original unfolding of the events, in this one he had been offered a green light right from the start. Even a push. It should have been crystal clear, it should have been easy and yet the man had returned like there was no other option for him. Richie was gone and Jon had no clue how to find out what the hell had happened in his mind, what series of thoughts had made him stick with a tour that drained his energy and didn’t bring him much joy. He could have left at the end of it, at least. That hadn’t happened either. Whenever he had some spare time, Jon would grab his phone and ransack the internet for any little detail that could bring some useful insight. On the way to Oslo now, he clicked link after link, he watched video after video, read interview after interview. It was useless, he knew. You couldn’t find information for something that never occurred. And there wasn’t much information out there, anyway. The same ideas were repeated again and again. From 2013 to 2014 everything was just fine, nothing spectacular. The tour had gone on with no significant events or changes and, by all appearances, had ended with them being in good terms. Even shape. From June 2014 to 2015 there wasn't even a single declaration from him personally, only official band statements. He had chosen to not make a circus out of his suffering, not really a surprise. Sterile details about the accident. Again it seemed that Richie had literally been the unfortunate man in an unfortunate place at a very, very unfortunate time. Pictures from the funeral which he didn’t have the strength to see. And some very disturbing paparazzi photos of himself. Damn if a zombie didn’t look more alive than him. 'I still can’t talk about it' repeated for a while. 'I don’t know if there is a band anymore' made the headlines for some months. That didn’t sound like him, but again he hadn’t faced what this Jon had faced. Maybe giving up on everything they had built in 30 years was not that unimaginable, if something like that happened. He didn’t want to think too much of that possibility. And then, somewhere in mid-2015, Burning Bridges was released with no fuss, but as Wiki stated, not because of disagreements with the record company. It should have been a proper album, but the accident had changed all of that. It was a compromise between 'we are still here' and 'nope, we are done' or just a first attempt on saving themselves. Looking at the list of songs, he realized the only one he knew was that annoying 'Saturday nights' and its Sunday mornings. Under those circumstances, it was no wonder it had become a hit. He was inclined to believe that Burning Bridges had not been the initial name, but how exactly the album had gotten the same name as his real counterpart he could not know because Wiki didn’t know. 'I’m fine now' he had finally announced somewhere in 2016, shortly before 'This house is not for sale' was released.

"No, you’re not", he murmured at his phone. How the hell could he be? He was not fine in a universe where Richie was only estranged, how could he be fine in a world where Richie was forever gone? He recognized tho his bravery and stubbornness to always go forward. He could admire it and laugh at it at the same time. Being determined to go on was sometimes not enough, but he was having a hard time accepting that in any universe apparently. Anyway, he would totally prefer to be miserable in a world where there was still a chance for things to get better. Where he still had a chance to make things right again. Sunk in his airplane seat, he realized he actually had a chance now to make things right again. Truly right. The association between Richie’s staying and his death might not be wrong, but it didn’t mean he could not turn the events to his favor. He hadn’t made him leave, but that didn’t mean he could not keep him alive. He put his phone down and smiled as a new plan started to take shape in his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter ahead :)

There he was again, lying on a hotel bed, soaked in whiskey, hoping those little gestures involving that strange object on his wrist would work their magic again and allow him to manipulate that dream as he wished. Because now he did have a master plan, one that absolutely excited him and made him feel like he was about to go up on a stage after a long, long time. If he hadn’t been lying on his back, he would have jumped on the balls of his feet, fueled by adrenaline and anticipation. Mentally, that was what he was doing. He took a deep breath, trying to lower his pulse. He had to calm himself down, otherwise he would not fall asleep soon. And he needed that. He needed to fall asleep fast and deep. At 41000 feet up in the air, he had realized he would not change the outcome of that dream if he didn’t leave some instructions for himself to follow later. He thought he had found out how he could do that and he was so eager to see if it worked that when the familiar darkness surrounded him, he couldn’t wait for his senses to settle in.

"Come on, faster, faster!", he muttered impatiently.

"Man, stop waving your arms like that! You missed my face by an inch!"

He let his arms drop, or what he felt from his half-incarnated arms, and turned to where the voice had come from. A foot on his toes and a bump in his shoulder followed his move and then Richie’s annoyed voice was heard once again.

"Why the hell did you stop in the middle of the hallway? And without any warning!"

"I…", he froze. Come on, how long it took for his eyes to see already?

"Did you forget something?"

"No…", he whispered.

"Then move! I’m fucking tired and I really need to lay down."

Blurry shapes started to loom and he was able to go inside the room without further incidents. By the time Richie was plunging onto the bed, his vision was entirely in place.

"God, I can’t wait to go…"

"Yeah, yeah, home", he said quickly. "You’ve said Hawaii wrong", he mumbled half-buried into the minibar. Weird. He had imagined that it was enough to wish for something to materialize, but as it turned out no bottle of vodka had miraculously appeared. He inventoried the content of the minibar and decided it was insufficient for what he had in mind. "Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back!" he said to Rich and stormed out the door before the other man had the chance to say anything. He didn’t know if this dream would collapse or not once he was outside the room, but he had to try. What did he have to lose anyway? He had seen the worst-case scenario twice already. What else could happen? Provoke his friend a more excruciating death? The result was the same in the end. 

The surroundings didn’t crumble once he was in the hallway, moreover, it seemed he was very good at building a realistic decor. He didn’t know from what corner of his mind he had come up with all those details and he didn’t care that much. The hotel looked real enough - maybe because he had seen so many in his life - the bar looked real and the bartender gave him a bottle of vodka that smelled and tasted more than authentic. Could you get drunk in a dream? He was about to find out, although, to be fair, he was drunk since the moment he had laid on the bed. He didn’t have time to question who was actually getting wasted on that night, all he knew was that was the perfect excuse for that version of him to feel confused on the next day when he would not remember a fucking thing from this night. He was sure those short moments on which he was gaining control over the past Jon provoked some kind of blackout for him, so his plan was to let precious information about what to do in the future and give himself a reason for not having the slightest idea about it. If it came from himself, even a drunk himself, chances were he would follow the instructions. He tapped the bottle with his fingertips as the elevator kept going up to his floor. Why the hell was an elevator in his dream? Couldn’t have he imagined a two-floor hotel? And why the hell did he have to bring his fears also? He was totally uncomfortable in that tiny box. He bolted out of it as soon as the door opened enough to permit his passing and burst into the room. 

"Hey…" he stopped dead on his tracks as he saw the empty bed. Where the hell was Rich? He tried to call him, but his voice came out whisper-like as if he didn’t want to wake up someone - may it be himself or not. He cleared his throat and this time he desperately screamed. "Riiiich!"

"What?", he heard from the bathroom’s direction then the door squeaked and Richie entered the room.

"Oh, good, you’re still here", Jon sighed in relief.

"Shouldn’t I?", Richie raised an interrogative eyebrow. "What are you doing with that bottle?"

"Celebrating!", Jon said and took a few good gulps from it that almost turned his stomach upside down then held the bottle for his friend. 

Richie’s grimace transformed from questioning to a combination of amused and skeptical. 

"What exactly are you celebrating? The death of your consistency?", he laughed.

"Huh?" He didn’t expect that resistance. Maybe celebrating hadn’t been the most inspired response - although they had just finished a part of the tour and that could ask for a celebration - but why the hell did Richie suddenly need a motivation for a bottle of alcohol?

"I can’t be the only one who sees the discordance in your vodka bait."

"Rich, leave the big words and take the damn bottle!", he lost his patience. "Don’t want?", he asked when the other man remained unimpressed and unmoved. "Fine! I’ll drink by myself". Another generous swig and he felt the vodka dropping all the way to his knees.

"Again", Richie spoke, "you are offering me vodka!" he accentuated every word so Jon could understand what puzzled him.

"I know what I’m offering you", Jon became serious in a way that surprised the other man. "I just want to…Guess I want to have a taste of the past", he pointed to the bottle.

"Are you having a belated existential crisis?" Richie questioned him. "Your birthday was more than two weeks ago."

"No, but you’re awfully reticent, you know that?"

"I’ve learned from the best", came Richie’s answer way harsher than both expected.

"Yeah...yeah you did", Jon smiled bitterly and fondly at the same time. Were all their discussions at that time like that? Passive-aggressive for nothing? In the last years, he had replayed in his mind hundreds of moments and dialogues, but he did not remember the casual ones to be so tense. He planted his eyes into Richie’s like he could find an answer there. "I miss us, Rich", he said softly.

The other man let himself being silently interrogated for one more moment then finally took the bottle from Jon’s hands.

"That’s definitely something to drink for", he assented and took a swig, handing back the bottle to Jon afterward.

Jon nodded contently and drank another considerable quantity from it. 

"Take it easy", Richie said expertly. "I don’t think a taste of the past includes you throwing up in a corner."

Jon smiled then walked towards the bed on wobbly legs. 

"When did it end, Rich?" He put the bottle on the nightstand and let himself fall on his back onto the bed. After a while, he felt the mattress molding after another body when Richie mirrored his move. Their legs dangled at opposite sides of the bed, but their heads met in the middle. They would have been weirdly close if they turned their heads but both kept their eyes planted on the ceiling.

"When did it end what?" Richie asked.

" _Us"_ , Jon wanted to answer but bit his tongue in time. "When did we stop having fun?"

"Is this a trick question?" Richie laughed.

"No."

"Well", Rich sighed, "I don’t think there’s an easy answer to that. And I don’t think we’ve stopped, is just …we are or too busy, or too tired most of the times. I’ve told you this before."

"Yeah, you did". That was no secret. Richie complained on numerous occasions about their schedule. The man felt that life happened whilst they were roaming the world and that they were missing everything for years. He was not even wrong. It kinda was like that and he could not blame him for not wanting that anymore. The thing was he simply got used to Richie clamoring about one thing or another but never taking a serious action. He got so used to it that when Richie had finally done something, he didn’t know what hit him.

"Plus, the definition of fun changed a few times over the years. For all of us. And yours…well, it went from boring to more boring, so I can’t answer for you", Richie smirked although Jon could not see him. 

"Stop smiling like the Cheshur cat…". He could not see him, but he still knew his reactions.

"Like what?", Richie burst into laughter. "Say that again!"

"Chesheer?" Jon tried again, not exactly understanding what was so damn funny.

"You’re absolutely drunk."

"I’m not drunk. I just can’t remember the fucking name."

"You’re totally sloshed", Richie smirked again. "And just so you know, I’m smiling like the Cheshire cat right now", he explained didactically.

"So I’ve said it right the first time", came Jon’s huffy remark.

"Sure you did", Richie laughed again and climbed over Jon’s abdomen and legs to take the bottle. "Cheshire", he said after he took a big gulp. "Nope, not enough!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Jon raised his head a little and saw Richie attempting to empty the bottle.

"Chessshuuur…", Richie managed to say before another reprise of laughter hit him.

"Give me that!" Jon stood on one forearm and snatched the bottle from Richie. He quaffed the rest of the liquid, grimaced then threw the bottle away.

"Oh, you’re so gonna regret this in the morning", Richie amusedly informed him.

"I count on that!", Jon said and let himself drop back on the bed. The drunk part he had accomplished successfully, now he had to move to the instructions one but first he had to get Richie out of that state where the cat’s name was something incredibly funny.

"Cheshuuur…", the guitarist kept repeating.

Jon didn’t know if Richie was still smiling like the said cat, but he sure sounded like one that was trying to expel a ball of fur. 

"Man, say it again! It was hilarious.

"If I say it will you get off me? Your elbow gave my knee another surgery."

"Say it!" Richie commanded and from one incredible agile turn he aligned his body with Jon’s, only he was flipped on his stomach. He stretched his neck, his head hovering above Jon’s who had his eyes closed.

"Chesh…", he started but then he felt his friend’s breath on him, warm and vodka scented, and he opened his eyes. "You’re not drunk!" Jon acknowledged after their eyes locked. "You’re just acting like one…"

Richie shrugged like an impish kid.

"Well, you’ve said you miss us and you know, in vodka time, we were stupid like this."

Jon clenched his teeth and tried to not make it too obvious. He didn’t know a broken heart could break once more but his just did that. Richie acting all foolish to make him laugh or just feel better was a sight he hadn’t seen in…he didn’t even know in how long. Just like he had gotten used to Richie’s nagging, he had grown accustomed to the absence of his adorable dorkiness. To be fair, it hadn’t disappeared completely. Even days before his departure, the guitarist had acted like usual around others or on stage, but when it came to the two of them being alone like they were now, Richie shut down that bubbly side of his personality. At that time, he hadn’t been aware of that change, it was something he had realized later when his mind had capitulated and he had let the past and the obsessive questions overflow him. Had it been over before it was over? Had their last years together been just pure inertia? When he had allowed himself an answer, the only one that had come to his mind had been 'yes'. Yes, it all had ended way before, without his knowledge and without him having a word to say about that. But that had been only his coping mechanism. Lying to himself that there was nothing he could have done differently permitted him to go on. It had been Richie’s decision, one that had hurt him like hell, but not one that he could have influenced in any way. Before all this madness with dreams, watches, and alternative universes started, that had been his belief. Now, sunk in whiskey and vodka and a pair of warm caramel eyes, he was not so sure anymore. If Richie was still able and keen to cheer him up, and by all means he was, it meant his conclusion was wrong. He could have done something and he hadn’t.

"Jonny?" Richie’s soothing voice made it to his zoned-out brain.

"You haven’t said my name like this in a long, long time", he said softly. It was another realization that broke his soul.

"You haven’t given me too many chances lately", Richie smiled regretfully.

Jon closed his eyes and his chest heaved as he struggled to hold back his tears and the scream that was building inside him. So it was his fault. Lovingly. Protectively. Beyond brotherly. Richie used to say his name like that all the time back in the day and if he had stopped it was only Jon’s fault. He had never pushed him away intentionally, he had just thought Richie didn’t need another person to worry or care about. He had thought he was being considerate and smart and he had been plain stupid. Richie had never questioned his gradual remoteness, he had just accepted it just like he had accepted a lot of other things he hadn’t necessarily wanted. He blinked his eyes open just to see his friend still looking down at him, patiently waiting for a word or a gesture.

"I’m sorry", he whispered. It was too little and too late for that. Even in a universe that he could rewrite it seemed to be so.

"You’re beyond drunk", Richie smiled again and gently caressed Jon’s face with his knuckles, drying the tears that started to roll down. Jon put a hand on his wrist and Richie stilled a little vexed. The hint of hurt in his eyes made Jon’s stomach tighten painfully as he realized he was doomed to repeat the same mistake again and again. Why was he rejecting him? Besides the fact he didn’t think he deserved the loving-kindness his friend was disposed to offer. How did he want to fix anything if at the first bump on the road he would react in the same way that aggravated the problem in the first place? 

"I screwed it up, didn’t I?" he asked and guided Richie’s hand to his heart.

"You screwed what up?"

" _Us_ ", he again wanted to say but stopped just in time. For years, the million dollars question had been 'Why did Richie leave?'. For almost a week, the question had changed to 'Why did he stay?' and that seemed to be the correct one. Why would he have stayed? Why will he stay? "This tour is a mistake…"

"I don’t think it’s our biggest", Richie candidly interrupted him.

"It will be."

Richie let out a surprised puff. 

"You’ve entered the gloomy phase of the alcohol quite early", he asserted.

"Tell me to cancel this tour!"

"What?" Richie laughed incredulously.

"Tomorrow. When I’m sober. Tell me I told you to tell me to cancel this tour!"

"Dude…". The guitarist wanted to get up but Jon didn’t let go of his hand and hold him in place.

"I’m serious!"

"Ok", Richie tried to be the voice of reason, "I can tell you anything you want tomorrow, but you’re not going to listen to me and you know that. Plus, why the hell would you want to cancel the tour? I’m the one who was not thrilled about it and I don’t understand why would you want that. Do you think your sober self will have a clue about it?"

"You’re right", Jon realized. "I will not listen…", he mumbled. Just like he was not listening now. He didn’t hear much of what Richie was saying, ‘cause his mind was occupied with finding another way to pass the information. He stood up briskly and wanted to head to the desk, but the sudden move combined with the alcohol made him feel extremely dizzy and he stumbled on Richie’s long legs. He fell on his knees, almost recovered then tripped over his own unsteady legs and landed flat on his chest.

"Jesus, Jonny!" Richie exclaimed half worried, half laughing at the sight.

But Jon didn’t care. He was on a mission and he was just very pleased with the fact that fall didn’t wake him up. Sudden drops in dreams ended almost every time with his muscles twitching and him regaining consciousness. He got up in no time and went to the table, ignored the oranges and the never eaten cookies, and searched for a pen and a piece of paper.

"Got you!" he said enthusiastically and pulled a chair close. "Listen to Richie!", he said out loud and wrote at the same time. His own handwriting he would recognize. And even if at first he would not believe a word from what he was about to write down, at least he would think about it. He would question and analyze every aspect of that list, but in the end he would follow his own bits of advice. 

"Richie says you’re nuts!", his friend yelled from the bed.

"Cancel the tour! Nobody wants it. Not even you! Postpone it for next year if canceling feels too much."

"You didn’t start the tour because you wanted it, you fool!" Richie chimed in. "You started it because you needed it. Every time you don’t know how to face a problem you bury yourself in work. If you want to write something down write this 'Find another coping mechanism. Work doesn’t help.'"

Jon looked dumbfounded towards the bed where Richie had made himself comfortable like he was watching a good movie. He was right. He had forced everybody to embark on this tour just because he had freaked out over his daughter’s situation. Exemplar parenting! That’s why he hadn’t canceled the shows when Tico had had problems. He would have lost his fucking minds. He would have been worse than he had been. It was not a new revelation. He knew he was doing that, he just didn’t know its true extent. And for sure, he didn’t know Richie was so aware of it. A vague sensation, that his workaholism was the answer to something regarding the universe he had left when this dreamed had started took shape in his mind, but he was too drunk to focus. And he didn’t care about that universe anymore. It was gone. And he had to hurry. This dream would not last for too long, not after he had executed that tsukahara. It would cave in soon.

"Hey, write that 'Listen to Richie' once more. It sounds like good advice", Richie grinned.

"If one of the members can’t be on stage, don’t be a jerk, consider a postpone! Ask them how they feel about it", Jon ignored him. It was quite hard to warn yourself about something without sounding too prophetic. And he didn’t’ need to sound like a drunk Nostradamus. He would not believe a fucking word once sober. "If two members can’t be on stage, cancel the fucking show!"

"Good luck with that!" Richie laughed.

"Slow down! Does this sound doable to you?" Jon sneered. 

"It sounds…Actually, I can’t argue with this one. Sounds good."

"Stop being so self-absorbed!"

"Buy a unicorn!"

"What?" Jon frowned.

"Oh, I thought we were saying phantasmagorical shit. I want it fluffy, by the way. And alive."

"You’re not taking this seriously", Jon said apparently obfuscated, but he had to bite his cheeks to stop himself from laughing.

"I’m not the one who started", he crossed his arms over his chest.

" _Let him in"_ , Jon wrote. " _You have no idea why he still wants that, but he does, so don’t push him away._ Ask Richie if he wants to play some of his songs on the next leg", Jon said and watched Richie’s reaction.

"Now you’re just mean", the guitarist informed him unamused.

"I wrote it!" Jon confirmed proudly.

"Would you really be OK with that?" Richie continued being unbelieving.

"Well, it’s better you than me", Jon shrugged. " _And at least I would have a fucking explanation."_

"I don’t get it", Richie frowned.

"It doesn’t matter. It’s written", Jon put an end to that debate. "Any more furry wishes?" He wanted to put Richie in his place with that replica but as the last word escaped his lips he realized what ineptitude he said. 

"Why, Jonny, I thought you’d never ask", Richie said languidly but on the next second, he burst so hard into laughter that he put his arms over his stomach and curled in on himself.

" _On June 16 2014 make sure Richie stays away from cars. Keep him inside, no matter what_ ", he added then folded the paper three times. He couldn’t take any risks on that one. He had to be specific. He improvised an envelope from another piece of paper he had found and put the list in it.

"Stop laughing!" Jon slapped Richie’s shoulder with the papers. The brunette unfolded himself a little and looked over his shoulder to Jon who was standing very serious at the edge of the bed. "Here! Put this away and give it to me tomorrow."

"Oh, I can give it to you now!" Richie wiggled his eyebrows then started to laugh bracing himself again. 

"Not with this attitude", Jon grumbled. "Are you done?" He asked him when Richie finally showed signs of calming down.

"Uhum", Richie nodded but bit his lips to stop another fit of giggles.

"Good. Now take this, keep it safe and…"

"Give it to you tomorrow", Richie muffled his laughter but took the papers from Jon and shoveled them in one of his jean’s pockets. "Stop rolling your eyes and let's put our old asses to sleep", the guitarist adopted a more serious tone. He moved over and pat the spot he had just liberated.

"You think we are old now?" Jon chuckled and laid down a little reluctantly. "You know you have your own room, right?"

"You’ve said you want past. I'm offering you past", Richie said and stretched to switch off the lights. "My furry wish", he cooed in the dark and landed a hand on Jon’s chest and rubbed it like one would pet a cute and shaggy dog. Jon smacked Richie’s hand to his amusement and let out an annoyed puff, but then he groped after Richie’s warded-off hand and took it into his, squeezing it ever so slightly. It had to work. This time it simply had to work. He felt Richie next to him sighing in his sleep - how the hell he could shut himself down like that, it was beyond him - and he closed his eyes too. It was time to wake up.

He was not in Oslo. That was not the room in which he had fallen asleep. It was a good start, he supposed. He grabbed his phone and checked the location first. Prague. So he was not back in the original universe. They should have been in…Coventry now? England, anyway. Being in Prague could be a good thing or a bad one. It all depended on what he was about to find out next. He could literally feel his heart beating in his throat whilst the search engine was doing its job. 'Richard Stephen Sambora was…'

"NO!" That was not happening! He closed his eyes then opened them and read again. 'Richard Stephen Sambora was…'. No mention of a departure, no canceled shows, same death date, same reason, not a single change from the previous universe. How was that possible? How stupid could he be to not follow some simple indications? He unfastened the watch and looked at it, its stillness mocking him big time. "Why didn’t you leave, you fool?", he screamed. He simply couldn’t understand. He had given him exactly zero reasons to stay. "Why do you keep dying?", he cried. "Why are you doing this to me?!", he shouted, desperation and a sense of injustice emanating from his voice. It was like that thing only allowed him to scramble the dates and the cities of the tour and nothing else. He enclosed the watch into his fist then released it throwing it across the room. The object flew unhindered, almost in slow motion under Jon’s growing horror, until it hit the first obstacle with enough speed and momentum to shatter into pieces. He jumped off the bed, but all he could do was to feel out the damage and gather the broken parts into his shaking hands.

  
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" he screamed so hard that his chest hurt. Or maybe it was just the realization he had trapped himself in a nightmare scenario sinking in.


	11. Chapter 11

Denial. Anger. Depression. Bargaining. Acceptance. The cycle that was supposed to lead to a normal existence. In the last five days, he had circled that cycle multiple times, a lot more than he could have ever imagined it was possible. Sometimes he had even randomly jumped from one stage to another just to come back to spinning in that circle of emotions, a veritable hamster wheel from hell. It was one thing to accept that you could enter another universe and a whole another one to accept that you’ve got stuck into a miserable one because you were an idiot who could not control his temper. For four days he had tried to put all those little pieces back and reassemble the watch, but no matter how many combinations he had come up with, they had never seemed to correctly fall into place. He supposed that was the denial phase and one hell of a Sisyphean job. There was always one moment when desperation engulfed him and brought him to the edge of throwing that thing across the room once more. Anger phase. He had never done it, but the bits he hadn’t yet figured out where they stood had defied gravity a few times. He probably acted like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum out of nothing but, for a split second, he was feeling better. And then the depression followed, almost instantly, and he was not able to do anything else but lie on the bed with incoherent thoughts running through his mind. Or with gloomy ones. There was not much of a difference anyway.

Luckily, there were things that required his presence outside the room, otherwise he would have rotten there. Concerts and their routine had become his lifeline, the only things that could provide a hint of normalcy in that madness. Just to win himself some time, he had yielded and had not dismissed ‘Saturday nights’ from the setlist. He had had to ditch the questioning looks and raised eyebrows by invoking a momentary lapse with a nonchalant ‘I simply don’t remember how it goes’, but everybody accepted his inexplicable memory loss without further protests and they had rehearsed the song until he had contently declared that his memory had been restored. On the first night he had played that song on stage, he had wondered if that was not some kind of bargaining he was doing. Like he was a little boy saying ‘Look, mum, I’ve finished all the broccoli! Can I have cake now?’It was as ridiculous as that. If he had to do something against who he was or how he usually behaved to win himself a chance to access that dream again, accepting to play a song everybody but him liked could not be it. It would be too simple. He didn’t even know where that idea had come from. Maybe it was just desperation. Maybe it was just his need to believe that there was still something he could do. He was truly in need of something to believe in and that seemed like a good idea. Wasn’t like that in movies? Didn’t the characters stay in others' bodies or trapped in some weird situations until they learned something? Didn’t they need to understand something about themselves to free themselves? But those were just movies. His situation was different because, no matter how implausible, it was real. And what was to be learned anyway?

He was now grateful for that chaotic itinerary of the tour. It distracted him from all those little voices inside him that screamed that he was fucked, for enough time to not get stuck forever in the depression stage. During concerts, things felt strangely normal, because in real life the new normal meant Richie was not there. Richie was not there for more years than he was missing here. Jumping and running like he was in his twenties, throwing his arm around Phil’s neck more often, way more often than the man was used to in any known or unknown universe, singing his soul out probably irretrievably destroying what was left from his vocal cords, fueled only by a energy he didn’t actually have, he could easily create a micro-world where no hazard had happened. But it all lasted until that chant began. When the voice of the crowd reached him, he could not hide from reality anymore. Richie was gone and it was only his fault. And just like that, he was again thrown in a stage of anger heavily infused with frustration and desperation. Why hadn’t he followed the instructions? What on that list had made him believe it was all just a joke, something only a drunk mind could say, something unworthy to take into consideration? What on that list had hurt his ego so bad that had crushed any warning signs that that last line should have risen? Was his past self so different from how he was now? So stubborn that no one could change his mind, not even himself? If that watch functioned again, how many more times did he have to go back and instruct his former self to do the right thing until he would understand that that was no game? How could your past self, who have not yet lived what you have lived, who have not yet seen what you have seen, who have not yet suffered what you have suffered, understand what you were preaching? Was that last scene with Richie something that could have happened only in a dream? If six years ago, he had ingested a bottle of vodka for real, could have that dialogue been the same or it had been possible only because the present had met the past? Would he have understood a fucking thing from what Richie had told him? A week ago he would have said ‘yes’, he would have understood a thing or two. Now, with a master plan that had ended up in ashes, he was not so sure anymore. His present repent seemed useless. What were his tears good for? What he had destroyed would forever remain destroyed. 

That was both acceptance and depression. By the time he was reaching his hotel room, it didn’t even matter what it was. Physically he was too worn out by the effort and his swirl of thoughts was easily put to sleep by those amazing pills that followed him in this universe too. In the morning he was ready to start again with the denial and try to fix that watch. He had even thought to look for a watchmaker, but that would have been an absolute cheap movie. What were the chances to find a watchmaker who was skilled in time machines? Plus, the screen was so cracked it didn’t probably matter if he could find the right order to arrange those pieces or not. It would not show a thing. It would not start to blink or ring to announce him he had made it.

His Eureka moment, when he had successfully put all the pieces together, had proved to be just a big flop. That watch didn’t seem too functional when it was working, how was he supposed to know if it got it right when he could not see a fucking thing? Were those circles still aligned? Did it matter? Could Super Glue have some influence on time traveling or what the hell he had been doing? Probably yes, because he had seemed to be glued to that bloody universe, despite the half bottle of whiskey he had emptied right after they had arrived in Vienna. A quick afternoon nap that had only brought him a monstrous headache and not even a start of a dream.

He didn’t know in which stage he was finding himself now. Probably in all five at once. He was lying on the bed, absently playing with the pill bottle, not sure if to take one and numb himself until the next morning or just let Richie’s ghost haunting him all night. He could still feel the man’s caress on his face. If he closed his eyes, he could still see that hint of hurt in his look and smile when he had rejected him. And when it was quiet, he could still hear Richie’s laughter filling the room, stinging his heart again and again. He had betrayed him. He had given him hope and promises on one night, just to recant on the very first morning. He was experiencing hell and he deserved it. 

That was his state when Tico had knocked at his door, not taking a ‘no’ for an answer to his proposal of going out. Phil had gathered the rest of the guys to go with him on whatever club he had to play that night, but Tico hadn’t been in the mood for agitation, fans, or loud music. He was not in the mood for spending a Thursday night alone in his room either, so he had ignored Jon’s apathy and dragged him out of the hotel all the way to some chill bar on the banks of the Danube. 

It wasn’t very crowded, they were seated at a more secluded table and that was pretty much all Jon could tell about that place. Tico was trying to engage him in a conversation, but even monosyllabic answers required too much effort, so most of the times he was just nodding or mumbling something whilst sipping from his beer. From his seat, he had a good view over the entrance and for about 10 minutes already he was contemplating the idea of just running out of there. Not that his room was a better place to be. The door suddenly opened and a man and woman, cramped under a jacket that was too small to cover both of them, burst inside laughing. It had started raining apparently. It wouldn’t have been much of a scene if he hadn’t felt a strange change in the atmosphere. It had become charged, almost electrical and he was not sure if the summer rain was to blame for that. That strange feeling, that he kind of knew what was about to happen, took over him, overwhelming his already well shook up instincts. ‘Danger!’ his guts warned him. He eyed the couple and watched them as they made their way to the bar, walking side by side giggling like two kids. He was having a deja-vu and there was no reason to have one. This woman was nothing like that lunatic that had thrown him in this hell, yet her energy seemed inexplicably alike, even if it was not directed to him, but to her partner. She was wearing a pair of jeans, high heel sandals, and a satin top that got wet on one side and was sticking to her soft brown skin. She had very dark, curly shoulder-length hair and a charming smile accentuated by a nice shade of red lipstick. She looked beautiful and totally in love from the way she was holding the man’s arm and the way she was smiling at him. But when they passed their table, the woman turned her head to them and, for a split second, she looked Jon right in the eyes, sending his mind into overdrive. Golden. Her eyes were golden. 

"Stop drooling!" Tico laughed. "What are you? 15?"

"I’m not drooling", he protested without being convincing ‘cause his attention was still drawn towards her. "I think…I think I know her".

Tico looked over his shoulder to see where the two had seated, just to witness the couple passionately kissing.

"Well, you better not know her tonight", Tico said half joking, half serious.

"Not like that", Jon seemed to recover a bit from her spell. "Actually I don’t know…It doesn’t matter. She just looked familiar", he said and took a swig of his beer.

The problem was she didn’t look familiar at all. She felt familiar, which was completely something else. Was it possible that she had some connection with the woman from Dublin? With Amser? He had tried hard to remember her name and he was almost sure he had gotten it right. It seemed impossible, yet everything he was living seemed so no more than ten days ago. He had to find out. The more he stayed there, the more he felt he had to talk to her. So when her partner got up and went to the bathroom or into another dimension for what he cared, he didn’t waste any time and went directly to her, leaving a speechless Tico behind him.

"Hi!" As he sat down on the empty chair next to her he realized he had no specific introduction prepared. 'Hi, I’m Jon Bon Jovi, you might know me, but you see, about ten days ago I’ve started jumping from universe to universe and I think you have something to do with that' didn’t seem a good one. He didn’t want to scare her and he clearly didn’t want to act like he was hitting on her. He had to choose a strategy and he had to do it fast, ‘cause the woman had turned to him and eyed him with curiosity. "Don’t mean to bother you, but my friend and I can’t seem to agree on what name suits you better. He said something simple and classy like…Diana should be your name, but I can’t agree. I think you need something unusual like…Amser". 

He cringed inwardly at his own method to approach her and wondered when was the last time when he had actually had to start a conversation like that. Being famous meant most of the times he had been in the role of the prey, not at all in the hunter’s. Maybe it would have been easier if he had indeed been chasing tail, but he was after precious information, not after sex. Her name was not that important. Her reaction to Amser was what interested him more. She continued to stare bewildered at him with no obvious change in her attitude. Not even a flicker in her eyes, not even a start of a smile or a bothered grimace. It was like she hadn’t even heard him.

"I’m sorry", he smiled sheepishly. "Do you speak English?" He had just delivered the definition of the cocky, self-entitled American who assumed that everybody had to speak his language. Even in a foreign country. The woman’s poker face finally broke into a small amused smile.

"Yes, I do". Just like the woman in Dublin, she had no clear accent. "I was just astonished by your …technique". Her lips curled into a mocking smile now, one that he absolutely deserved.

"It’s not a pick-up line. We are just two old, boring guys who don’t know what going out on a Thursday night looks anymore", he said and flashed his signature smile. Just to give her a hint he was not that old and not that boring. On occasion. Impressed or not, the woman accepted his explanation and carried on with his little game.

"Why Diana?", she wanted to know. 

"Maybe you remind him of a princess or a goddess", he cajoled her, "but mostly I think it’s Diana Ross that came to his mind", he ended bluntly. The woman started laughing and dropped the mocking attitude like she finally concluded he was worthy of her interest.

"Then why…how did you say? Amser?", she pronounced that name with difficulty like it was indeed the first time she was saying it.

"Because you look like one", he looked her right in her eyes. Not a single wince, not a trace of hesitation. If she was acting, that was one hell of an Oscar performance.

She narrowed her eyes, the mocking smile threatened to curl her lips once again but, on the last second, it transformed into an adorable innocent one.

"Is that a real name?", she asked doubtfully.

"Yes", came his dry response.

"Have you ever met an Amser?", she asked partially curious, partially coquettish.

"Uham", he nodded. "In another life", he felt the need to add.

"And how was she?". He could not tell exactly how he had become the one being interrogated, but that woman was doing just that. She was the one extracting information from him and not the other way around.

"Dangerous", he said seriously but the woman started laughing again, the same sincere, contagious laugh she had when she had entered that bar, hiding from the rain.

A deep and disgruntled voice, coming from a place awkwardly close to him, distracted his attention from her and made him turn a little. Her partner was back. Her tall, well-built, and absolutely-not-pleased-to-see-him-there partner was back. Or maybe it was just the German language that made the man sound like he wanted his head on a plate. Either way, he didn’t want to find out. 

"Here you go", another voice was heard, this time coming from the bar. He turned and saw the bartender shoving two bottles of beer in his face. He blinked confused, but the bartender insisted. "Your order", he said and Jon finally understood.

"Thanks", he said and took the bottles. "Well, it was nice talking to you". He got up and briefly apologized to the man for taking his seat. Whilst he did that he quickly glanced over their wrists. None of them was wearing any kind of watch.

"It’s Zaman, by the way", he heard the woman saying. 

"What?", he turned and looked at her. 

"My name", she smiled."It’s Zaman". A strange flicker sparkled in her eyes as she said her name, making Jon’s blood run cold instantly. It was the same golden shade. He was not wrong.

"Jon", he said with a hint of defeat in his voice. If that was some kind of game between him and a bunch of crazy witches it was one that he had lost. "But you knew that already". He turned again and headed to his table.


	12. Chapter 12

Jon came back to his table and placed one bottle in front of Tico then took a seat, letting himself drop on the chair.

"You should thank me. I’ve saved your ass", Tico informed him.

Jon didn’t respond although he was indeed thankful for the smooth exit his friend had put up for him. 

"What was that all about?", the older man inquired him.

"Nothing", he sighed. "Apparently, I’m going crazy", he waved his hand like he wanted to chase away that scene and its unsettling aftertaste.

"Yeah, about that", Tico dared. "You’re acting kind of strange lately. Are you all right?"

"If I say yes will you believe me?", he asked him although he knew that question had one single possible answer.

Tico shook his head, in a move that felt like a scolding.

"I take that for a no", Jon emptied half of the bottle. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

Yes, he did want to talk, but how? How could he say all that was happening to him without ending up in a mental institution? How could he prove that he was coming from a universe where Richie was still alive but not in the band anymore? Who would believe that? 

"I don’t know what’s to say". That much was true. "I feel like …like I’m starting to forget, you know? It’s all becoming a blur". Blur. He wished he had blurry memories, at least he would have had something. "I’m trying to remember how it was before…". He couldn’t end that sentence. "Before", he repeated and ended his idea there. It was enough anyway. "But it’s harder and harder every day. Do you still remember how we were?"

"You mean you and Richie?", Tico asked him point-blank.

"Yes…No… All of us. Why didn’t we postpone the shows when you were in hospital in 2013?"

"Because we couldn’t. You tried."

"I did?", he marveled at his own past actions. When he had checked if there had been some modification to the 2013 tour he hadn’t taken into account a failed attempt to do something. Now he was absolutely confused. Had he tried to follow his own advice or it was just a coincidence?

Tico nodded and took a sip from his beer.

"Why didn’t I cancel them?"

"You really don’t remember?", Tico asked him incredulously. "Man, go see a doctor. You’re kind of young to have such memory loss. First the song, now this...".

"I don’t think a doctor would know either why I didn’t cancel the shows."

"Smart-ass", Tico smiled. "I didn’t let you. You thought about it, you asked me about it and I think my exact words have been ‘I can totally take a break from seeing your ass every night, but our fans don’t seem so keen to do the same’". It was Jon’s turn to look at him incredulously. "Come on, what was I supposed to say? You were worried. It was better for everyone and especially for you if you just continued with the tour."

' _You didn’t start the tour because you wanted it, you started it because you needed it_ ', Richie’s words came to his mind. It seemed everyone was aware that work was his way of facing problems. Everyone but him. His friends were one step ahead of him when it came to knowing what truly motivated some of his questionable decisions and, moreover, they were disposed to let him have his way. Or maybe, after all those years, they had all transformed into work-addicts to some degree. 

"Did Richie ever say anything about playing some of his songs?", he risked another question with an answer he should have known better than Tico.

"On that tour? No. I know you had some disagreements before the tour, but I don’t remember hearing him saying anything once it started."

"Did we…fight?" It was a vague and odd question, but he needed to find out how they were. Wiki could not tell him that.

"Not more than usual", Tico chuckled. 

"Did he ever mentioned that he was thinking of leaving the band?", he went straight to what he wanted to know this time, leaving Tico with his mouth open.

"He what?! Where did you come up with that? That’s crazy!", the older man looked absolutely outraged but that idea. "Wait…was he?"

"No…", Jon tried to chase away the doubt he had triggered in Tico. "I don’t know…I don’t know anymore", he sighed.

"Jon, what’s wrong? What’s with all these question? What does it matter what happened six years ago?", the drummer sounded worried now.

"It matters!", Jon declared through clenched teeth.

"Why?"

"Because…", Jon brought his fingers into closed fists. "You don’t get it", he sighed heavily and shook his head, fighting back his tears. "I…", he leaned forward a little like he was about to spill a secret, something so wrong no one else should hear. "Teek, I …", he could not hold that fact only for himself. He needed to let it out. He could not face that guilt anymore. "I killed him…", he confessed at last, cold chills making him shiver inwardly. Strangely, he didn’t feel much better.

Maybe because that was the simple and ugly truth. All his decisions, in all universes had led to that finale. If he hadn’t followed Amser, he wouldn’t have been in that situation. If he hadn’t dreamed that stupid dream in the first place he wouldn’t have been there. If he had convinced Richie to leave, he wouldn’t have been there. If he hadn’t ditched the most important instruction from that list, he wouldn’t have been there. He had blown chance after chance after chance.

He expected Tico to start laughing or call him crazy, but his friend’s expression was not even close to being amused or perplexed. He looked a lot like someone who had heard that in the past and hoped he would never be put in that situation again. 

"No, Jon…", Tico shook his head and pinched his lips together, denying what he had just heard. "Please don’t tell me you’re there again!"

"There?", Jon frowned and sat back in his chair. 

"I knew it!", the drummer didn’t even notice Jon’s confusion and hit the table with his right fist making the glasses and the bottles tinkle and a few curious glances to turn to them. "This tour is a mistake!"

"This tour?", Jon snorted. There were at least two who deserved more the mistake label but it was not the time to argue with Tico about that.

"You were not ready to start a tour this big, we shouldn’t have agreed. We thought it might help you, but it’s too much, it’s too stressful. We should have seen this one coming!", Tico started a tirade that left Jon in complete awe. Every new sentence had the capacity to baffle him even more than the previous one. "From the moment you’ve stopped crying at 'Here without you', I knew something was wrong with you. This week I convinced myself that it was just a phase, because you acted human again, you know? For two minutes you were human again and you allowed yourself to feel something, even if that something was sorrow and pain."

So this Jon had managed to control his emotions and tears? That was a remarkable performance. How the hell did he do it? Jon would have liked to know. 

"But you’re not better, Jon!", Tico continued. "You’re far away from better if you’ve started blaming yourself again!"

Jon opened his mouth to say there was some kind of misunderstanding there because he couldn’t have blamed himself until now, but Tico didn’t give him the chance to say anything.

" Jon, listen to me! You have to stop! You can’t blame yourself for something that was so out of your control! Richie’s death was an accident!", Tico’s tone became more and more agitated like he was the one on the verge of a break down. "A very tragic one, but just an accident! It was not your fault, it was not Dave’s fault, and it was not Richie’s! Do you understand?!"

Jon didn’t know what surprised him more. What Tico had said or the way he had said it, with tears in his eyes and a mix of pain, frustration and disbelief that Jon could simply not understand. Just like he couldn’t understand what Dave had to do with all that mess. He wanted to ask Tico what the hell was he talking about, but Tico was doing exactly that. He was giving him all the details Wiki would have never been able to offer, so instead of saying something, Jon chose to keep his mouth shut and listen.

"He could have gone to the damn supermarket and end up crushed by another car whilst waiting for the green light. He could have been stopped at a traffic light for hundreds of reasons and someone else could have made that irreparable mistake, don’t you get it? It could have happened to any of us, anytime. It just happened to be him and it just happened him to be there at that time because he was heading to meet you and Lemma! That doesn’t mean you killed him ! You didn’t! You were not driving the other car!", Tico almost shouted and hit the table again with his fists, making the bottles almost topple. He inhaled deeply trying to calm himself and sat back in his chair, whilst Jon couldn’t do anything but look at him completely struck by his words. _Richie was on his way to meet him when he died._ He could not grasp that idea entirely. It was like he was learning of his death for the first time again. 

"I put him in that car", Jon whispered starring blankly.

"No!", Tico burst and leaned over the table shoving his fists in his t-shirt. "No, you didn’t!" Curious eyes turned again to their table and Tico let go of him, realizing he was causing a scene none of them wanted. He sat back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. "I’m sorry", he shook his head like he was talking to himself, "but I can’t watch you doing this to yourself. Not again! For one year you completely shut yourself down. It beats me how your wife didn’t lose her minds then, but she hadn’t and that pretty much saved you. But then you entered another fucked up phase and this time you had a companion. For two years I watched you and David making a contest out of who was feeling guiltier. It was a nightmare! It was a nightmare to watch both of you putting yourselves through hell and not be able to do anything to help you. But I thought it all ended when you two recorded your version of ‘Stranger’".

"We what?", Jon babbled not loud enough for Tico to hear him.

"It was a nice thing to do, a beautiful homage to Rich. And I really, really wanted to believe you were OK. You acted ok, you know? We started the tour, it went decently, but from the moment the fans came up with their own little moment, it all went downwards. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now. It all crumbled down for you again, bit by bit, day by day. And the fact you two idiots have brought ‘Stranger’ on the setlist didn’t help much. Didn’t help you much, because for Dave playing that ending song feels healing. For you it’s fucking torture! You can’t even hear it anymore, for fuck’s sake! That’s why you don’t want to end the show like that anymore, right? And I get it, you know? I totally get it! Even if it upsets Dave, I think we shouldn’t do it anymore if it brings you like this. You need a break from this Richie tribute. Fans love it and Dave loves singing those songs with or without you, but…".

"What?", he whispered completely taken aback by that revelation. He had never thought he was not the one ending the show. 

"It’s his way of saying goodbye and keeping his memory alive", Tico didn’t mind his mumbling. "But it’s his closure, not yours!"

Tico’s last words had the power to knock the air out of his lungs. All this time he had avoided Richie’s songs thinking only at himself, not giving a single fuck what that avoidance meant for the others. 'It was my song too, you asshole!' David had screamed at him. At that time he had thought his friend was referring to the fact he had co-written it, but what he had said was something else. Dave was not completely over it either, but Tico could not know that. In this universe, their friend hadn’t had yet the chance to show it. 

" _I’m such a douche_ ", was all he could he think. 

"Jon, listen to me! Let’s stop this! Let’s stop this until it’s not too late! I love you and I don’t wanna lose you too, ok? I can’t stand on the side and pretend I don’t see what is happening. I can’t witness how you kill yourself day by day. I can’t! I won’t!", Tico decreed.

"Kill myself?", Jon mumbled not because he was outraged by what Tico had said, but because something clicked in his mind. 

"Jon, did you understand anything from what I said?", the drummer asked him desperate by the fact he sensed that Jon’s mind had veered to some other place.

"Kill myself", he repeated. "It could work…Teek", he smiled wryly and looked him the eyes," you’re a genius!" Didn’t the guys in that 'Inception' movie need to die in a dream to wake up? So what this world seemed real? Didn’t he implore on the first night to wake up? This could be it. Die and wake up! That simple! He stood on his feet, knocking the chair down. He probably looked like a mad man. Like a happy mad man. "See you on the real life, Teek!", he said and run towards the door.

"What?! Jon, no!!!", he heard Tico screaming as he stepped outside into the rain. He didn’t exactly have a plan. Jump in front of the car? Even if it wasn’t a real death he didn’t feel comfortable to involve an innocent person. Jump from a window? Hang himself? Drown himself? Drown... Well, the Danube was right there. He started running towards the river hoping there was no fence to block his access. A lighting illuminated the sky and before a powerful thunder shook the earth, he heard Tico screaming behind him.

"Matt, stop him! Matt!"

Why the hell was Matt still there? He had said he would drive them there but he would go to some other place to leave them alone. Since when did 'other place' mean waiting patiently for them to end the night? It was not only the fact Matt was still there that bothered him. It was the despair in Tico’s voice, so intense that persisted in his ears until the thunder fade out completely, so deep that had the power to put again in motion all the pieces of that horrible puzzle and finally forced them to fall into their right places.

He was one step away from the water, he could mostly hear the whirling river than actually see it, yet he stopped dead on his tracks, frozen at the image that puzzle depicted. He turned and saw Matt and Tico waiting in agony for his next move. Ready to jump if he jumped. 

"I tried this before, didn’t I?", he asked. 

He didn’t know exactly how or when, but he was sure it was nothing new in what he was doing. He didn’t really expect an answer. He already had one in all those little details that had surrounded him for days in all universes. The silence that followed Richie’s death, those detached declarations, those damn pills that helped him sleep, Matt’s worried speech, Dot’s frightened voice over the phone. Dot…He hadn’t called her in days. She was probably worried sick. 'Please come home' echoed in his ears and he felt his heart being slit wide open. He was an idiot. For days he had wondered what the hell this Jon was doing or thinking without realizing it was nothing that different from what he was doing. It was like he was programmed to follow the same wrong path again and again without taking notice that those where familiar places. The suicide Tico had talked earlier was not just hypothetical. The tour didn’t look like that from negligence or because this Jon had lost his organizational skills. It looked like that because he was trying to bury himself in work. Literally. Secretly, he was hoping at some point he would fall dead on the stage or he would simply not wake up on one morning. And he, the Jon whose past didn’t hold any secrets, was not far from that yearning either. It was funny how he could clearly see and disapprove what this universe Jon was doing, whilst being absolutely ignorant to his own self-destructive behavior, which, by all means, was pretty much the same. The problem with overworking yourself as a coping mechanism was that there was a very fine line between being the lifeline you needed or the murder weapon you were trying to escape. And he had just crossed that line. 

"Jonny, please!", Matt implored him.

He was not in a dream. Until he found a way to go back, this was his reality. Didn’t he reach that conclusion hell knew how many universes ago? He would not die in this world and wake up in the correct one. He had just been delusional and that could have cost him his life. He took a step towards the two men and Matt took advantage of that and quickly caught him into a hug that almost left him breathless.

"Don’t you ever do that again!", he shouted, partially to cover the rain, partially because he was that frightened. "Did you hear me?!" He took his head into his hands. "Never ever again!!" The rain and the tears mingled on his younger brother's face.

Yes, this was his reality and, for now, these were his friends and family who were drop-dead worried about him. He thought he was experiencing hell when in fact he was creating hell for all his loved ones.

"I’m sorry", he mumbled. "I didn’t mean it…I…I don’t know what I was thinking…I’m sorry, Teek". He said and looked at his friend. He had never seen him like that, so livid and scared. 

"You’re gonna catch a cold again", Tico said after a few seconds of silence. He spoke calmly in total contradiction with what his body language was betraying and with what had just happened. "Let’s go back to the hotel".

Jon kept mumbling he was sorry and that he didn’t mean to do anything, but Tico didn’t seem capable to understand anything. He was in shock. As a matter of fact, all three of them probably were. 


	13. Chapter 13

  
The only good thing about reaching the bottom rock was you couldn’t go any lower from that point. Running in the dark towards the Danube was his minimum, Jon had decided. It had to be. He still had no idea how to make things better, but he knew how to not make them worse. He started by throwing away those otherwise very helpful pills. It was ironic how he had been appalled by Dave’s pill bottle only to learn its content was inoffensive, whilst he had ended taking the hell those pills were. He was almost sure those were not common sleeping pills, but more like antidepressants with good sleep being just a side effect. That could explain why he was so ready in the mornings to start again with the reconstruction of that useless watch. Looking back, maybe it was a good thing he had had them at hand, but he surely didn’t want to rely on them. He didn’t like the idea. And he wasn’t so sure this universe Jon was not one step away from using them to swell the ranks of celebrities founded breathless in some hotel room. Death by accidental overdose. Accidental his ass! He threw the pills in the toilet and watched with satisfaction how the swirl of the water engulfed them and send them to the sewer pipes. " _If you want to kill yourself, do it on someone else’s watch. Not on mine! Idiot!_ " he muttered whilst he exited the bathroom. 

Then he called his wife, trying his best to sound normal and not completely unphased with that reality. He had no clue what his own family was up to, so he simply asked about them and let her fill him in. He was relieved to find out everybody seemed to be ok. 

Then he made a mental note to let Dave know he could end the next show how the hell he wanted. What could happen? The world was not going to explode if he didn’t sing the last song. Out of curiosity, he searched for their rendition just to find himself in awe when he went further and watched a live performance. When Tico had said that sometimes David was doing the song by himself, he had imagined things went by like they had gone by on other occasions when different members had been in the spotlight for a song or two. That meant him not being on stage or being absolutely passive in a corner. Or maybe keeping the simplest rhythm on the drums while Tico was having his moment. More than that he had never been involved. If it was their moment, it was their moment. Except this song was not about who was in the spotlight or not. It was about Richie and how they felt about him being forever absent. So yes, sometimes Jon didn’t sing, letting the vocal part to Dave, but that didn’t transform him into a simple bystander. On that last song, in all the videos he had found and watched, there were always only him, Dave, Tico, and Hugh on the stage and he was delivering one hell of a performance on the guitar. Watching himself playing, totally immersed in what he was doing, he realized Tico had gotten all wrong. The drummer had been confused by Jon’s refusal to do the song anymore. He needed an explanation for that change of mind, or heart, and that was a plausible explanation. But that was not torture. That was probably the only thing that had kept him alive. Jon wished he could keep that video across all universes and show it to their real selves, hell, to show it to everyone, but mostly he wished he could keep it for himself as a compass for those, not rare, moments when he forgot that not all was about him. In that song, in those four minutes, was gathered the true essence of the band. It was about brotherhood and friendship and love, it was about standing shoulder to shoulder even when one of them was not there anymore. 

He didn’t know for how long he was going to stay in that universe, or universes, but he was disposed to give that song a try. He wanted to experience it live at least once. However, it was not that simple. He didn’t have the ability to pull out of his sleeve the guitar performance of his life overnight. Maybe this body had some muscular memory that could make his job easier, but he still had to practice it a little. A little more, who was he kidding?

Despite the fact he was acting, to the point when sometimes he even felt, as close as normal as he could, Tico and Matt didn’t lose sight of him. He simply hadn’t managed to convince them that that incident had been just a temporary slip and not something he really wanted to do. And definitely not something he would attempt on the first occasion if they were not keeping a close eye on him. It was like they took turns in watching every step he made. Jon could understand that they were scared and worried, but that didn’t stop him to slam the door a few more times right in his brother’s face. Unfortunately for him, Matt was not the kind who backed off easily, so when he understood that hotel rooms where restricted areas, he has started to come up with all sorts of motives to keep Jon out of them as much as it was possible. That meant Jon had stood no chance to avoid going out tonight. For God knew what reason their schedule included three days in Madrid and only one show - were there no more cities they could have played in? - and Dave had wanted to go out, which led to a small excited group wanting the same thing. 

So they were out - Tico, Matt, Dave, Shanks and him - partying away the Madrilenian night. Or maybe that was what Dave had imagined they would do. In reality, they were sitting around a table in an almost empty bar. Jon prayed that the dull atmosphere would make Dave want to go back to the hotel and not in some other place, in the chase for the nightlife of the city. 

The waiter came to take their order and greeted them with a large smile and the thickest Spanish accent that still allowed him to be understood.

"It’s Open Stage tonight", the guy informed them very enthusiastically and pointed to the small stage where a basic drum kit and an acoustic guitar occupied one corner. The five of them pinned him with empty, cold stares like they didn’t understand why in the world he had decided it was a good idea to tell them that. "If you want to…", the guy continued.

"Oh no, no one wants to hear us sing", David interrupted him before any of them had the chance to say they were not interested. The guy chuckled and glanced at them one at a time, waiting for one of them to contradict Dave. "Oh", the blond pretended to finally understand the guy’s dilemma, "this is not what it looks like. This is the team-building of the accounting department of our firm", he said very seriously and made the waiter, Tico and Matt burst into laughter. Even Jon smiled a little.

"Accountant?!", Shanks exclaimed. "Come on, at least we could be …I don’t know…software engineers or something".

"Software engineer?", Dave asked with a condescending tone and turned to him. "With that face you want to be a software engineer? Maybe tech support!"

The waiter was trying hard to maintain a professional attitude but was one step away from suffocating from the effort, Matt and Tico were almost rolling in laughter, whilst Dave and Shanks started an intense debate about what faces corresponded to what professions.

"Just bring us five beers, please!", Jon looked at the waiter and smiled, silently apologizing for his friends’ behavior.

The guy nodded, gave up on explaining to them what Open Stage meant, and wrote down the order. As soon as he turned his back to them he burst into laughter and continued to giggle even whilst he poured the beer into the glasses.

Around their second round of beers, people had started to appear and the bar had gotten half full. Around their third, a newbie young guy with a bunch of very supportive friends kicked off the Open Stage night. It wasn’t much of a success. The poor fellow, nervous and insecure of his abilities, didn’t stand a chance to capture people’s attention. Maybe he didn’t even want that. The girls from his group acted like he was some kind of Spanish god, making googly eyes and sighing visibly every time their idol glanced at them. It was quite funny to watch them. Matt commented that even he could play better and Dave dared him. No one else seemed interested in taking the guy’s place anyway. Or maybe it was still too early. Only in the last fifteen minutes, the tables seemed to be fully occupied. Jon felt like he really was getting old. It was not even midnight and they were in Spain. These folks had dinner at hours other people were going to bed.

"One more beer and we’re out?", Tico asked him.

"You’ve read my mind", Jon smiled relieved that at least one of the guys was on the same page as him. "But what about the A-team here?", he gestured towards the other guys who were caught in a loud, joyful conversation.

"‘A’ standing for accountants?", Tico said, making Jon choke on his last sip from that beer. They both started laughing and drew Dave’s attention.

"What’s so funny?", the keyboardist asked but forgot quickly that he was interested in an answer. "Uh, fresh meat!", he said and pointed with his chin to the bar and both Jon and Tico turned to look.

Carrying a guitar case that seemed almost as big as she was on her shoulders, a very colorful appearance walked to the stage, greeting people, customers and staff alike, on her way. She was a petite young woman, wearing a washed-out boot cut jeans and a simple white tank top that left uncovered her bellybutton piercing. Both her arms were covered in multicolored tattoos that contrasted with her pale skin. Her bright blue hair was caught in a messy ponytail, whilst her crooked bangs enhanced her youthful overall aspect. She probably wasn’t as young as she seemed because she was emanating a kind of confidence only age could bring. It was not cockiness, it was experience, and Jon knew to make the difference between the two.

"I hope she’s good", Tico said. 

"At?", Dave asked and earned himself a harsh look from Tico.

The woman didn’t waste any time and took out her acoustic guitar, a shiny black cutaway that only complemented her flamboyant look with its simplicity. By the time the waiter brought them a new round of beers, she was ready to start performing for that public that was clearly more interested in their drinks than in her music. Only a few persons, probably the ones she had greeted, applauded incentively when she presented herself. Or what the hell she had said. The only thing Jon understood was the starting ‘Hola’. However, that apathy faded drastically when the very firsts chords on the guitar resonated into the room. People had recognized the song and responded accordingly. 

"Should we know this?", Tico asked him glancing bewildered between the now engaged audience and the woman on stage.

Jon only shrugged in response. The song had a familiar vibe, it sounded very country, maybe a little bit melancholic, but he doubted it was a cover of an American one. It had to be some local hit and, with her warm and confident voice, she clearly did it justice by the way everybody’s attention had been drawn to the stage. They were probably the only ones who didn’t know what she was singing and they were still fascinated by her little performance. The song itself didn’t seem to be that catchy, upbeat, or special, yet it was something about her that made it impossible for people to look elsewhere. Maybe it was the contrast between how she looked and how she actually made herself perceived by others. She seemed so tiny with the guitar leaned against her crossed legs, a little girl lost in a big world, but even standing on that chair she emanated an energy that totally powered up that bar. Hell, it could probably power up a small village. 

When the song ended she raised a bottle of beer and people cheered and raised their glasses too. 

"What did she say?", Jon asked Tico when he saw his friend joining the crowd in that gesture with a small smile on his face.

"I guess it’s something related to the song, I didn’t pay much attention to the lyrics. She said everybody who feels the need to get really drunk on a Tuesday evening should raise their glasses. A lot of unsatisfied people", Tico giggled.

Jon was about to add something, but the excited shouts that followed the first prolonged chord from the next song stopped him. The woman raised to her feet and instead of going on with the song, she paused and looked at the public with a grin on her face. He didn’t exactly understand what she said, but judging by her tone and the audience’s reaction - a very enthusiast ‘Si’ - she had asked them if they knew the song. Another single downstroke followed by several up and downs short moves filled the room with the same fading sound and made the people cheer eagerly. This time Jon’s little knowledge of Spanish allowed him to understand her. ‘Do you want it?’ got even a more enthusiast ‘Si’ as a response. He didn’t get more, but the playfully booing and her laugh made him believe she had said she’s not going to play it. She was teasing them and Jon admired how easy she made that interaction seem.

"She’s funny", Tico laughed. "And good!"

"It’s one chord, for fuck’s sake!", Dave frowned forgetting how many one chords he had played and made their audience go wild. "What the hell did they recognize?", he asked cluelessly. None of them had any idea. Sure there were songs everybody knew from the very first notes, but that was the thing with them. Everybody knew them. In this case, everybody didn’t include them which made the whole scene more impressive than it really was.

"The delay", Jon laughed and took a drink from his beer. It wasn’t even a joke. That effect on that chord - usual on electric guitars but one she had to improvise on her acoustic - had the potential to be an iconic start. In fact, it most surely was an iconic start. It just happened to be one they didn’t know.

The woman started clapping rhythmically, encouraging the audience to do the same. Tico didn’t resist her for too long and started knocking the rhythm with his fingers on the table, a thing that brought a smile on Jon’s face. When the woman was pleased with the result, she finally started the song, giving people what they wanted to hear. It was a very rockish tune, nothing alike with the previous one, and she had enough range and technique to sing in it a lower pitch, without sounding like she was forcing herself in any way or like she wanted to imitate the original, whatever that was, and being able to add a tremolo from time to time. Tico was right. She was good. And also very charismatic.

"Imagine this with an electric guitar on a proper stage", Shanks shouted at him to make himself heard over the shouting mass. The woman knew exactly when to let the audience sing on their own and they didn’t skip a bit. That tiny colorful creature owned the room in a way Jon rarely had seen. He could not tell if an electric guitar could have added something to that performance. She was making it electrical enough and powerful enough to make you feel you were in a fully packed arena not in an obscure bar on the outskirts of Madrid. Or where the hell they were.

Whilst she put a capo on the neck of the guitar, she asked again the audience something Jon didn’t understand. But again he got the overall idea. She was asking for their help once more. This time, the tempo was quicker and she induced it to the audience by hitting the guitar, not by clapping. People jumped in following it and she didn’t play any more games with them. She went right into the song, another one their table had no clue about, and she incorporated that slapping she had done in the begging in her playing, making whoever might have come and taken the seat at the drum kit feel like a third wheel. Her guitar sounded absolutely alive and, with the public’s clapping, the energy in the room went over the roof. Jon could not tell if that was a happy song or not, but it was one that brought joy to the public and to her. She played it with her entire body, from the foot that tapped that insane rhythm to the wide, effervescent smile, constantly switching between a nonchalant and a come-hither attitude. She hadn’t played games at the begging of the song, but she was playing now and people absolutely loved it. She was more than good.

"That was one fucking good performance!", Matt exclaimed bewildered. I feel sorry for the next schmucks tho.

The Open Stage night, they had found out from a flyer on the table, meant you only had the chance to play a maximum of three songs. Jon thought that was kind of nonsensical given the fact no one had seemed at that time to be interested in that. One hour later and there was already a queue. Three songs made sense now. And his brother was right. Keeping things in proportion, whoever had the guts or the bad luck to follow her would feel like everyone that had had to follow Queen on the Live Aid stage. 

"Does anyone know the lyrics to 'Cama de rosas'?", David asked. "If we sing in English they will ignore us for sure, but in Spanish we stand a chance to top that", he pointed to the stage and rose to standing.

"Oh, now you wanna give it a go, Mr. Boring Job?", Shanks snarled at him. 

"Uhum! We would be…Los Jovis!"

"Jesus!", Jon hissed and rolled his eyes. Matt choked on his beer and the rest burst into laughter, whilst Dave couldn’t look more proud for coming up with that name.

"Calm your titties, Macarena!", Tico tried to diminish Dave’s sudden interest in making them Latin friendly. The keyboardist pulled an annoyed funny face at the drummer but complied and sat down.

The public wasn’t so eager to welcome the next brave or just unwitting person, so they were asking for one more song. Initially, she had unplugged her guitar and had gone to the side of the stage. Only after she had made sure everyone was ok with her playing one more song she had returned in the cheers of the small crowd. She seemed genuinely touched by their reaction and she had the inspiration to choose a softer song, something to lower a little the bar’s energy and not let the next performer facing an impossible mission. 

For the first part of the song she barely touched the guitar. Only her voice was spreading into the room, aerial, yet still powerful enough to keep people subjugated. It kind of felt magical. Jon had no idea what the song was about, but he felt goosebumps rising all over his body. The more he looked at her - eyes closed, slightly frowned, perfectly melded with those words he didn’t understand - and the more he listened to her - a voice that seemed to have a life and spirit of its own, slithering between all those heated bodies all the way to his own, and further to his very soul - the more he had the feeling that somehow that song was addressed to him. It made no sense yet that was the vibe he was getting. When the song ended and she bid her farewell in the cheers of the audience, the lights turned down low a bit and for a split second her eyes sparkled unearthly into the semi-darkness. The goosebumps transformed into a cold shiver and Jon wondered if that electric presence was the result of talent and educated entertainer skills or was something more. What exactly more meant, he could not say.

"Teek, what was this song about?", Jon asked the drummer. He simply could not shake off the sensation those lyrics were meant for him.

"Not sure. I mean, I understood some of the lyrics, but I’m not sure what the overall meaning was. But I memorized them and I’ll look for them later".

"Later?", Jon raised an eyebrow. "You’ll forget them before we are out of here".

"Probably", Tico agreed smiling. "Anyway, I think it was mostly about fate. Do you want to correct the destiny lines from my palm…I liked that line".

Jon didn’t have the chance to react in any way to what Tico had said, because Matt asked if anyone remembered what the woman’s name was and Shanks hurried to answer.

"Tempora!", he said very surely. He made the guys laugh but his silly answer produced another cold chill down Jon’s spine.

"Dude, she said Deborah!", Dave corrected him.

"You’re both wrong", Tico chimed in. "Her name is Denbora".

"What kind of name is this?", Shanks frowned.

"How should I know? I’m not Google".

Tico was right. He was not Google, but the search engine was one click away so Jon took his phone and typed in the name the way he thought it was spelled. Denborah. Normally, he wouldn’t have made use of the internet so quickly, but the last weeks had turned his enemy in his only ally. The results dropped the final ‘h’ and showed that Shanks’ answer was not that wrong after all. Jon went on and typed in Amser, luckily guessing its right spelling from the first try.

"You have to be kidding me", he muttered under his breath when the results were displayed.

He didn’t need to search for Zaman’s name as he already knew what Google had to say about it, but he did it anyway. A little crosschecking never hurt anybody. 

"You little devils!", he angrily curled his fingers around his phone. He didn’t know exactly how those very different women were related, but he knew for sure they were. And he was not going to let one of them escaping before she would give him the information he needed. Not this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small fun fact. :) The last song Denbora plays is actually the song that gave me the idea for this story. It's by a Spanish rock band - Héroes Del Silencio - and it's called Flor de loto (Lotus flower). The very first lines (a rough translation: Never was a farewell so brief/ Never I believed it was the last one/ I've never loved someone that much in my life/ I've never called a stranger family) made me instantly think of Jon and Richie and well, the rest, is history :)))  
> If you want to hear how it really sounds, here is the link (my description has nothing to do with how the band plays it tho :)))) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=re1btP_rGys


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers. You wanted them, Jon wanted them, so here they are. :))  
> A big thanks to Esayel for her Sci fi expertise. Her approval meant a lot to me, since I have no real background in this kind of stories.This chapter gave me a couple of sleepless nights. If you find it too confusing, don't worry. We'll come back to our normal 'tormenting Jon' program on the next chapters. :D
> 
> If you find Denbora's answers too scientific, there's a resume at the end of the chapter.

The atmosphere remained animated during the next performances, although they did lose most of the electricity that had defined Denbora’s recital. Tico seemed to have forgotten that they were supposed to drink only one more beer and then go back to the hotel and Jon didn’t remind him. When Dave proposed to have another round, they both agreed.

Jon was keeping a close eye on the woman, who had sat at a table and was enjoying the night with a very happy and loud group. Singing and cheering and having too much fun for his taste at that moment. He could not approach her with all those people around. Not that if she had been alone would have been much of a difference. Chances were she was as elusive as her sisters from hell.

“Do you know what happened the last time I witnessed something like that?”, Tico asked him.

“Hmm?”, Jon looked at Tico, partially oblivious to what his friend was asking. The drummer discreetly pointed to her table, the exact place from which Jon’s attention had been diverted. The singer slightly shook his head as an answer.

“I joined you”, came Tico’s response that startled Jon. He knew the drummer was only trying to be funny whilst admitting she had made quite an impression on him, but given the actual situation, he didn’t find anything funny in what Tico had said. If her name hadn’t matched those other two, maybe he would have even joked that he could follow her if he wished. As long as he would be back on time for their next concert.

“Trust me, Teek, I was nothing like her!”, he said maybe a little too disgruntled, but he simply didn’t like to be associated with her in any way.

“I can’t tell from your tone if you think you were better or she was”, Tico laughed.

Jon forced a smile that could be interpreted either way, letting his friend choose the winner of an unequal battle. He was only human after all. He sensed more movement than usual in his peripheral vision and he turned a little to see the woman getting up from her chair and moving towards the bathrooms. That was his chance. He stood up and Tico didn’t ask him where he was going because after all that beer it went without saying where he was heading.

Just like in Vienna he didn’t exactly have a plan, a thing that made him feel absolutely uncomfortable. Or maybe the one that was shaping in his mind the closer he was getting to her made him feel that way. The hallway to the men’s - on the left side - and women’s - on the right side - restrooms was poorly lit and the sign on the men’s door was missing. The first time he had come there he had wrongly opened the door next to the ladies’ one, so he already knew he had an accessible small deposit room at his disposal. 

He didn’t think too much. If he analyzed that sick ad hoc plan even for a bit he wouldn’t do it. The woman was right in front of him carelessly and softly singing along with whatever song was played at the time and he took advantage of the fact no one except them was in the hallway. When she got in front of the ladies’ restroom, he grabbed her by her arm, a gesture he had probably made thousands of times before, but never that aggressively and definitely not towards a woman, moreover not towards a maybe 5-feet-tall woman that he didn’t know at all.

“Qué coño te pasa, tío?” She asked outraged as she tried to pry his fingers off her arm.

He instinctively tightened his grip and dragged her to the next door like she was a weightless doll. A weightless doll with a big mouth, spilling bad word after bad word. If he had understood Spanish, his ears would have bled from her otherwise very melodic expletives, he could bet. He shouldn’t have grabbed her arm, he should have covered her mouth first. _Politely ask her to help you, didn’t cross your mind?_ His morals snarled at him. He was absolutely disgusted with himself, but deep down he knew there was no other way and he simply couldn’t afford to let them run away from him just because the idea of being even slightly violent towards women made him sick. He opened the door and pushed her inside, letting go of her arm.

“I’m not gonna hurt you”, he said and raised his arms to show her he didn’t have any ill intention, but she couldn’t care less about that. For a second, her golden eyes spit fire, a rare wild animal finally backed into a corner, before she quickly scanned the shelves and the multitude of boxes scattered on the floor and grabbed a crowbar that probably weighed more than her. 

“Jesus!” Jon hissed. She looked utterly ridiculous with that thing in her hands, but that didn’t mean she could not produce some serious damage if she pounced on him. Death by an angry anime character was a thing he had never imagined for himself.

“Qué cojones quieres, imbécil?”

“First put that down”, Jon gestured for the crowbar in her hands. “Then switch to English, ok?” Not that he needed a translation for that question. An imbecile was an imbecile with or without a cute pronunciation. “And…”

He didn’t have the chance to say more, because she started another tirade in Spanish. Jon watched her astonished by how quickly and ardently she let out all those lisped words, giving the sensation she hadn’t yet repeated herself.

“I just wanna know where I can find Amser, for God’s sake!” He shouted exasperated. “Just tell me where I can find Amser and you’re free to go”.

“Qué Amser?! Yo soy Denbora. Den-bo-ra!” She repeated like he had some kind of retard and he could not understand her name.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah”, he said, fed up by all that babbling.” Denbora, Zaman, Amser. No difference! It’s 'time'! All your names mean 'time'.”

The woman let the crowbar drop from her hands and looked at him bewildered, her menacing attitude softening considerably.

“Hostia puta”, she whispered with a start of a stunned smile on her face.

Jon didn’t know what the hell she said, yet somehow it sounded about right.

“How did you know?” She asked sincerely curious, in an English that had no specific accent.

“Oh, so you speak English after all”, Jon ironically responded. “Google. Not much of a riddle if even I figured it out”, he said like it didn’t take him more than two weeks to actually learn that.

“Google doesn’t know shit about us”, she retorted. “I’m not asking you how you found out there are other languages besides yours in this world. I’m asking how you have correctly identified us as being…well us”.

A short cold chill coursed through his body as she said that - what the hell did she mean by ‘us’? - but he chose to ignore it for the moment.

“Oh no, no, no! I’m the one with the questions here”, he informed her. He didn’t want to end up interrogated once more.

“Yeap, you’ve clearly met Zaman”, the woman giggled, looking so childish that even 21 seemed to be too many years for her. “Ok, don’t tell me…but can I least know why do you need to find Amser?”, she asked mollifyingly.

“I guess you’re good too”, he sighed. “I need one of you to tell me how the hell to put an end to this mess. Or just repair this so I can stand a chance to figure it out by myself!” He shoved his hand in the pocket and took out the glued watch. Since he had met Zaman, he always carried it with him. Just in case. He gingerly took a step towards her like he didn’t want to put her in guard again, but she didn’t seem to feel menaced anymore. For an unknown reason, she had stopped considering him a threat and Jon wondered if that didn’t mean he was the one that should be afraid. His instincts wanted to shout ‘Danger’ but her looks contrasted too much with the warning her presence should have inflicted in him. She stretched her hand and took the object from him.

“What the fuck did you do with it?” She frowned when she saw how damaged, possibly beyond repair, that watch was. Jon was not going to show any hint of remorse for what he had done. Not to her anyway. “Whatever”, she shrugged and searched among the many necklaces that were hanging at her neck. She stopped at one that looked disturbingly alike with his watch. “Why are you so desperate to have a functional one?” From a simple move, she removed the screens from both devices and interchanged them.

“Are you kidding me?!” Jon exclaimed whilst keeping an eye on what she was doing. “You’ve fucked up my entire world and you have the nerve to ask me why I need it?”

“Hmmm”, she mumbled unimpressed by his outburst. From another necklace she took out a thin pin then carefully disassembled the object, taking out a small rectangular piece. She stung it with the pin, pretty much like one would do to take out the card out of a phone. Indeed, the piece seemed to open and expose another very tiny piece. It looked like a chip from what Jon could tell. She blew a breath over it, rubbed it on her jeans then put all the pieces back.

“Advanced technology”, she smiled sheepishly. “Try it now”, she held the watch for him.

Jon put it back on his wrist, the multitude of circles forming right under his eyes.

“Happy now?” She asked with tones of irony in her voice.

“I’ll be happy when I’ll have the dream again”, he mumbled angrily.

“What dream?” She frowned.

“What do you mean what dream? The dream that sent me here!” She knew about Amser, about Zaman, about the watch, why the dream seemed a new concept to her? Jon simply couldn’t understand.

Denbora stared confused at him for a few moments before she started laughing. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life and believe me I’ve heard many”, she concluded. “Do you really think a dream allowed you to be here?”

“Yes!” He approved. “A dream, this stupid watch and that nutjob of your friend, or what the hell she is!”

“I wouldn’t say friend. More like a…coworker”, she nodded happily with her choice of words.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of witches you are…”

“Witch? Oh, come on! We are not in the medieval era anymore, to burn the ones we don’t understand or…are a little different.”

“How little is that little?” Jon dared to ask, feeling he would not like the answer. He could feel the all too known metallic tingling on his tongue, menacing to explode in his mouth and then in his entire body.

“Uhm, maybe we should postpone this a little”, she said. “Why are you having the impression a dream brought you here? And why do you think that thing”, she pointed to his wrist, “helped you?”

“Because that’s what happened. I fell asleep, I dreamed I ….Doesn’t really matter, it was something that happened to me in the past, and when I woke up the world was different. In a bad way”, he accentuated.

“I see”, she said thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve got news for you. You didn’t dream anything. You actually went back to that point in time”.

“Excuse me…What?” He blinked confused at her. He had barely got used to the idea that a dream could have such an impact on his reality. Time traveling, actual time traveling, seemed too much.

“Ok, maybe going back is not technically correct”, she corrected herself, “but you get the idea.”

“No, I don’t get any idea!” Why did she treat the whole situation with such nonchalance? Why did she expect from him to readily embrace all these crazy ideas? “You mean …everything I did when I thought I was dreaming was…real? Real real?” If he thought about it, it actually made sense. Everything around him had been too palpable to be only imaginary. That’s why the bottle of vodka hadn’t magically appeared in his room, that’s why he had had to take the elevator, that’s why he hadn’t woken up when he had stumbled in his own feet. That’s why Richie had seemed so alive, so… him. The still lingering sensation of Richie’s last touches gave him warm fuzzies as he realized they hadn’t been only imaginary. It had been real. It all had been real.

“Yeah…” she muttered like she didn’t understand what was such a big deal.

“So, this thing really is a time machine?” He still felt that was a ridiculous thing to say or even think and yet, there he was, having a conversation that he would have considered a complete waste of time no more than a few weeks ago.

“Joder!” She rolled her eyes irritated by his lack of knowledge. “No, of course not! You don’t wear a DeLorean at your wrist. What the hell? That is just a…is more like a GPS. It shows you where you are.”

In just a few short sentences she had destroyed everything he thought he knew about what was happening with and around him.

“Did you notice there’s a circle that is slightly thicker than the rest?” she asked like she didn’t consider he could give an affirmative answer.

“Yes, but…It never changed.” On the first night, he didn’t notice anything. He had been so drunk that it was a miracle he had noticed something in the first place. But on the next days, he had stared at those circles until he had learned their placement by heart. There was indeed a thicker circle, but it was always the same no matter in what city he had woken up, so he had thought it wasn’t an important detail, but more like a manufacturing defect. “Wait, nothing you say makes any sense. If this is a…GPS” - how the hell that thing being a tracking device became even a more absurd idea, he could not tell - “how come I stopped having that dream when I…when the thing cracked?”

“It cracked? By itself?” She inquired amusedly and he shrugged like a little naughty boy caught in a lie by his mother. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’ve stopped going back because you’ve stopped trying. Plain simple! This thing, or watch as you call it, doesn’t influence a bit your ability to travel back in time.”

“And I’m telling you it does!” He declared annoyed by her persistence in not believing him.

“Jon, be serious!” she asked him to stop fooling around.

“How the hell do you know my name?” He snarled at her.

“Seriously? Half of the world knows your name, why wouldn’t I?” she questioned him, a light shadow of a smile passing over her lips. “Now, don’t you think that from the two of us I know better what that UTS can or cannot do?” she smiled condescendingly.

“UTS?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Universe Tracking System, if you really wanna know”, she said that name proudly like she had come up with it or she had actively participated on its development. Jon didn’t know why, but from the three of them she looked like someone who could invent a thing like that.

“I wish I didn’t need to know!” He scoffed. Good thing he was mildly intoxicated from the earlier beers. A sober brain would have gone in overdrive by now with all that information.

“Listen…Amser gave you this ability. You go back, you change something and voila! new universe. World. Life. Name it as you like. The UTS just shows you in which of the multitude of possible variants of your life you currently are”, she explained.

“But it never changed!” He could not believe they were arguing about that, treating the going back in time part and the new universe thing like they were the most ordinary topics. He was going to make an appointment for a damn tomography after this night. He had a hunch a brain tumor would be a piece of cake compared to whatever Denbora was disposed to let him know.

“Then you didn’t enter a new universe”, she concluded dryly.

“I went back three times and I woke up in cities I didn’t fall asleep, ok? And that circle never changed.” He described again what had happened to him, completely fed up by her superior attitude.

“You are on tour, right?” She asked and waited for his confirmation. He nodded although that question seemed rather rhetorical to him. “Except for the cities, did anything else change? Were you different? Were your friends different?”

“No, I don’t think so”. He hadn’t had the inspiration to look for differences. First the shock, then the desperate run to restore things back to normal, and ultimately the sheer horror he would never be able to do it, had kept him slightly out of touch with the major part of the reality. However, he did know that some things had happened exactly the same. He had reacted the same, Dave reacted the same, even the fans had reacted the same to Richie’s death. Except for the accident, he hadn’t rechecked much from one universe to another. He didn’t know if 'Burning Bridges' album was the same, for example. He knew ‘Saturday nights’ was on all versions but for the rest he could not be sure. 'This house is not for sale' looked the same. Except for that ‘Here without you’, it even looked the same with its real counterpart. The only difference that had struck him was the itinerary of the tour.

“Then it’s not that different after all, see?” She let out a short partially annoyed, partially pensive breath. “How should I explain this?” She pinched her lips together and for a moment she looked like a schoolgirl concentrated over her math homework. “Our life is a long series of choices, do you agree on that?” When he slightly nodded, she continued. “Do or don’t do a thing. If we assume our birth is our starting point, everything we do from that moment on dictates what we’ll become. But all the things we haven’t done are doing pretty much the same thing, except they are building what, under normal circumstances, we’d never find out we are. There are, well not an infinity, but an impossibly big number of possible lives for us. Not all are that different and not all possibilities are valid. Does it really matter if you have a red t-shirt on you or a green one today? Most of the times it doesn’t. Only some of our decisions have the power to create truly different outcomes for us. See where I’m going with this?” she asked with a half amused, half taunting smile.

“No!” No, he didn’t and he was starting to feel a monstrous headache slowly building inside him.

“When you see life on a larger scale, it doesn’t matter if you did a thing at one point or another if the end result is the same. Fail or pass an exam. It’s not that important if a future major event doesn’t depend on it. Ok, not all the following events would be the same, but not that different either. If the different itinerary didn’t highlight another circle, it means it’s not important. The UTS has a finite space to show all your possibilities so it acts like…like musical notes”.

“What?”

“One circle represents many possible outcomes that differ only by insignificant details. The notes, there are only twelve of them…and only seven letters, speaking of limited resources”, she groused, “yet the sounds they represent are many more. You know the theory. Those circles are just like notes. Right now you're in a ‘F’….What?” She asked amused by his involuntary grimace. “You’ve said your world is fucked up, not me. So, F. What the UTS doesn’t show you is in what octave that F is. Is it clear now?”

He wasn’t very sure he understood even with that music analogy that should have made things clearer for him.

“What I did in that dream…”, he started explaining his particular situation again, but she cut him off abruptly.

“Stop calling it a dream!” She outburst. Her temper totally matched her height, a thing that slightly amused Jon. Poor Tico! A nice, calm person he wouldn’t have followed. “There is no dream! Joder, I feel like the kid from The Matrix. There is no spoon”, she imitated the said character. “What do you not understand? You haven’t dreamed a thing! You accessed your past, that’s what you did!”

“You know what? You have no right to shout at me and act all outraged because I don’t understand shit from what you’re saying. That stupid coworker, the fuck that means, of yours threw me in this without any explanation. You wake up one morning without having the slightest idea of what you’ve been doing for the last 6 years and tell me how intuitive and fun this situation is!”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” she frowned again just like she had done when he had first mentioned the dream.

“You mean I should?” His eyes widened in horror.

“Uhm…pretty much, yes, she informed him a little conflicted by what he had said. Maybe not from the first moment but it shouldn’t take you more than two days to have your memory fully restored. Now...or in the past. People remember. I mean…that’s how every other human reacted until now.”

“What the fuck am I…are we to you? Lab mice?!” He never felt so used in his entire life and that was quite impressive because he had been through some truly fucked up moments.

“Don’t put it like that…” she looked and sounded upset, maybe even disappointed, by his way of seeing things.

“And what the fuck are you anyway? Why do you look human but you don’t refer to yourself as human?”

Denbora inspected him from a few moments, her eyes transforming in incandescent gold as she clearly pondered over some options.

“Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal”, she finally said. “You’re going to tell me how you’ve figured out that we are different and I’m gonna answer your questions. After all, I’m the one who warned Amser that you’re not the perfect candidate for this and by all means I wasn’t wrong. As you can see, it’s more of a deal for you than for me, because you really don’t need to know how all this shit works. You don’t need to know how a plane works to fly with it, you know?”

“Your eyes”, he said dryly, interrupting her lecture about what he needed to know or not. He was the one to decide how much information he needed to turn things back to normal.

“What?” She asked like he had said an unfunny joke, not the truth.

“You all have golden eyes. It’s not really the color, it’s the intensity that seems…unearthly”. As he said that her eyes sparkled like they had a will of their own.

“I was on stage! How the hell did you see my eyes?” She asked, the undertone of her voice clearly stating she didn’t believe a word.

“OK…fine”, he surrendered. There’s another thing that stands out more than your eyes. The energy changes. It’s like…it’s like you are wrapped in electricity or something…in a bad electricity, if that makes any sense.” He was not going to say they inflicted the fight-or-flight response in him, with flight being the preferred option. “And sometimes, when you move, the air around you feels dense. Liquid. No, not liquid…” he didn’t seem able to find the right words to describe the sensation.

“You mean like a wave?” She tried a suggestion.

“Kind of. Like your movement distorts something and for a second you think you’ll see what that something is, but in the end you don’t”.

“Huh…” she whispered astonished and thoughtfully at the same time. “So Amser was not so wrong after all”.

“What is supposed to mean?” Making her say more than evasive sentences felt more and more like pulling teeth.

“It means we’ve never been perceived as anything else but human until now. We look human, don’t we? OK…Can you be less judgmental?” She quickly condemned his involuntary eyeing. “It’s just blue dye, not a third tit! It’s not that uncommon!”

Despite his best efforts to not find that image that had automatically formed in his mind funny and arousing in a creepy way, he still had to pinch his lips together to not allow them to curl into a foolish smile.

“You’ve chosen the wrong looks for going unnoticed in this world”, he informed her, swallowing his giggles. “Maybe you should try something less…appealing”.

“People tend to be more friendly and open when they are approached by good looking strangers. It makes our job easier”, she said as if the she didn’t have a word to say about her appearance.

He couldn’t argue with her on that one. She was totally right. It was shallow and stupid but that was exactly how people worked. Looks mattered. He wasn’t a hypocrite to state the contrary. It was not all that counted, but it surely helped. A normal looking woman would have never had the power to catch his attention from across the room. Not like that. And if the danger alarm had gone off, he would have run away easily if there was nothing else to pin him there. But one thing was certain. From beauty it was harder to escape.

“So what are you?” He got to what was truly important.

Denbora opened her mouth to say something, but on the last second, she changed her mind and shrugged ruefully.

“You can’t tell me”, Jon assented. “Fine”, he huffed, “ then just tell me why do you look like us”.

“Because this is how you’re designed. You can’t see more than your body allows you to”. Again she talked like that was damn obvious and it was his fault he didn’t know.

“Huh?” He frowned in absolute confusion.

“Your brain has some limitations. A lot of them, but that’s not the point here. You consider the world is 3D. Maybe even 4D, but scientists are not yet sure about that. The main reason you think the world is 3D is that you can’t perceive more. Let’s put it this way. Think of the surface of a lake as being a 2D world and a spider floating on it as a 2D creature. Now, get close to the lake and shove your fingers in the water. What do you think the spider would see? Not the whole finger for sure, because he cannot perceive that third dimension.”

“So basically you’re saying you’re a multidimensional creature who shoved her fingers in our world?” he sarkily resumed her words.

“If you drop the sarcastic tone, you are kind of right”, she scolded him.

“But…the spider doesn’t see another spider. He sees something that doesn’t make sense. At best. Whilst I see something that resembles a human being”.

“Let’s just say that unlike your fingers I have the ability to shape myself a little. If you could see the world as it is and how I see it you would understand. Anyway, you are the very first man who sensed there’s more. Don’t be so smug!” she rebuked him when he couldn’t stop a half proud smile. “You’re thoroughly retarded in all the other sections. You can’t even go back in time properly. Dream…Por Dios!” She scoffed.

“Yeah, about that. Your little story doesn’t explain the time shit”, he ignored her insult.

“Can you move to the right? Or to the front? Or to the left?”, she asked with a little bit too much sarcasm in her voice. “Come on, I’m not asking you to do it”. Again she seemed to have perfectly interpreted his mimic. “I’m asking you if you can”.

“Yes, of course I can”, he confirmed although he sounded like the words had been dragged out of him. He would have totally loved to just say he couldn’t and be right for once.

“Good. We’ve finally agreed that when it comes to width and breadth you can do the hell you want”, she said annoyed. “Now, with height it gets complicated. Gravity holds you back a little and you need some help. A jump, a ladder, a plane, things like that. But you can move along this axis too. Why would the fourth dimension be different?”

“The fourth being time?” he raised an eyebrow, not knowing if he was ironic or simply curious.

“Yep. The only difference about this one is you can’t stop at a given point. This axis doesn’t allow stillness. It flows and it carries you with it”.

“So you’re a four-dimensional creature, hence the name?” He tried again to summarize the whole discussion.

“Actually, you are a four-dimensional creature with a twisted view of its fourth dimension”, she made it clear from her tone that he and all the humans were an absolutely inferior species. “And the name is just a name. It sounded nice, I liked it, I took it. What?” She grinned. “Did I kill the magic?”

“What does a twisted view mean?” He decided there was no sense in insisting on the name thing. They could call themselves how the hell they wanted.

“It means you have a very clear demarcation between past, present, and future when these three are not so separated. They are more tangled than one would think. A rough description would be it’s all now, but it’s not really correct and it’s not that important anyway. The idea is you can access at any given time whatever moment from your life you want. What Amser did, you know when time passing felt a little funny, is she unlocked in your brain this ability.”

“Why me?”, he wanted to know. He always liked to distinguish himself from others but this kind of difference was not one that he liked. He would have totally preferred to be a regular Joe now. “Why not some really smart guy who could understand and be thrilled about this shit?”

“Why you is a thing only Amser knows, she said calmly. Why not a scientist, I think it’s obvious. We don’t need to see a rigorous approach to this. We know the theory, we don’t need theoreticians. We need action. And you’ll be surprised, but people start by being afraid and end up by being thrilled about it.”

“How the fuck?!” he exclaimed. He could not believe that. “Why would someone be thrilled about this shit?” Questioning everything you knew, waking up confused in places you didn’t know, in horrible situations…Were all people masochists to some degree and he didn’t know?

“Because it allows you to repair things”, she shrugged with a faint of a smile on her lips.

“Repair?!” He shouted, his voice cracking under the intensity. “Repair?!” he repeated. “I killed my best friend!!” he closed his fingers into fists. “What repair is this?!” 

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen! We all die at some point. Plus, Richie is not dead because of you, or because of me, or because of Amser. He’s dead because in one of your lives he really died at that date. Maybe if you enter another circle, other than that one you wish so bad to come back to, he is just fine. Go find out! Go back to whatever moment from your past you want. Do things differently, see what happens. You have been given a unique chance and you’re acting like a cry baby!”, she scolded him again.

“I don’t want another circle”, he threw his hands in the air exasperated by how she insisted in making that circle jumping a desirable activity. “I want back, for fuck’s sake! “How do I go back?”

“From a human point a view I have to admit I have no fucking clue. No one ever went back yet”, she informed him dryly.

“Excuse me?” he blinked confused. He had lost the count for how many times he had reacted like that.

“I’ve told you. After they jump chaotically from circle to circle they always find one they like and settle down. So I can’t tell you what to do”. She didn’t sound apologetic, rather she let him know that even if she had known she wouldn’t have told him.

“But…But…”, he mumbled, “the world they left behind…all those people…they are the real ones, they leave them behind”. No, he simply could not understand how others were thinking. Didn’t they realize that was not their life? How could they be at piece with their choice?

“All circles are equally real. What it happens is your …how should I say this…your master consciousness can be active in only one. Another human limitation”.

“You’re telling me you can perceive all of them at once?!” He couldn’t even imagine how that would work.

“Not really at once, but it’s not such a big fuss to jump from one to another. I mean I don’t have to go back and do something different. I just go…and I know what’s the thing that triggered that circle. This 'go back in time' is humans’ door to all these alternate lives”.

“It makes no fucking sense”, he shook his head. If this is just some kind of trick and you don’t really need to change something…that means…the circle already existed”. The metallic tingling pierced his tongue and he swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

“Good job, Sherlock!” She patronized him. “I’ve told you that past, present, and future are tangled.”

“But that means…there’s no choice. What you do, what you feel, what you choose… it’s not really up to you”.

“See why you shouldn’t ask too many questions?” she laughed. “And why the rage? People believe in predestination, destiny, things like that. It’s not really a new notion. And the path exists, yes, but you actually have to do the right steps to remain on that path. At 23, if you had known for sure you’d be successful one day, would you have worked so hard? Maybe not. It’s a thing that sooner or later would have thrown you in another circle”.

“But that one is created too” For someone that advanced technologically or otherwise, she seemed to accept the destiny idea too easily. “Who the hell creates them?” his eyebrows furrowed in a mix of curiosity and fear.

“Hey, just because I know some things doesn’t mean I know all the things, ok? She became defensive. “There’s plenty of mystery out there even for us!”

“Is it possible to go back and do something that could trigger a new circle, like new new? A variant that was not foreseen?”

“You really don’t like this idea, huh?” She asked amusedly. “Technically yes. But it’s highly unlikely. Remember the red-green t-shirt thing? The butterfly effect is extremely exaggerated. Look at you, for example. You went back three times, you did different things and yet the outcome was pretty much the same. Systems have a high resistance to change. They seem fragile at first sight, but they adapt pretty quickly. If something is important for the system it most certainly will happen in one way or another. Now, I don’t know why it’s like that, but that’s how it works. The world has a big nondeterministic part, which is quite counter-intuitive and a big pain in the ass. You need a really big bang to shake the system and actually come up with a variant that hasn’t been created, but it’s possible”.

“You’ve said something about not all possibilities being valid? What did you mean by that?” He asked thinking that if he had paid attention in all his school years at least half he was paying now he would have been an excellent student.

“It means some things are not the result of a choice. Of your choice, more exactly. There are worlds in which your friends are different or maybe not even born, but you can’t access them because it’s not up to you to do something. 

Another problem is you are born in a certain way. I haven’t yet heard of someone that had gone back to the womb and carefully chose different bits of DNA for himself. So, with a fixed DNA, the number of possibilities is drastically reduced. I won’t say there is not a world out there where you are different, where you have brown eyes, and singing even “Happy Birthday” in tune is an impossible task, but if that life exists it’s not on the UTS. Maybe, maybe, she stressed again that word, it’s on your parents. 

Plus, all the decisions you’ve made up until one moment kind of led to the same outcome no matter what you do. And you have two possibilities: you go back even more or you start changing the present. Now, changing the present is kind of hard because as I’ve told you, at some point, humans remember, and with the memory comes a certain behavior pattern that sets them back on the track of that circle. They can’t surprise it, so to speak. But you…you don’t remember shit and while that’s completely fucked up it might help you”.

“Huh?” was all that he could say. Maybe he exaggerated with excellent student. More like not mediocre.

“Look at the UTS”, she instructed him.

Jon reluctantly looked at it, expecting to see the all too known configuration.

“What the…?” he exclaimed. “That was not the circle, how did I change it?” He asked slightly excited by his achievement. However, his exuberance didn’t last for too long and he felt his pulse accelerating when he realized that was not another highlighted circle. That was a completely new one. “How did you know?”

“Since you are here you’ve done something that was impossible for this version of you to do”, she said casually.

He gingerly took two steps back until he hit the door with his heels and leaned against it. The metallic tingling intensified as he was starting to realize what event had provoked that appearance.

“I wasn’t sure it changed, but we usually tend to act like little big bangs for you. Our meeting, and I’m not talking only about us two, was never predestined. It was more like…an accident”.

Although he heard her, Jon didn’t truly follow her words. He was more interested in lowering his pulse and keeping himself straight when his knees felt painfully weak. She was wrong. She was not the one that created the circle. He had done it a few days ago when he had lunched himself towards the Danube but had stopped abruptly right on the edge of the river. Tico’s yelling thundered in his ears at that memory and Matt’s horrified face made him shiver inwardly.

“Yeah…maybe…”, he mumbled. “Hey, just curious, can I slip in a circle where I’m dead?” He asked, trying hard to maintain a non-affected tone.

“ No. You can have a vision of it, in the best-case scenario, but I doubt you’ll do that”. Jon sensed that her tone softened a bit, but at this point he didn’t care much for how she chose to give him the information he wanted.

“ And if I die here…”, he insisted.

“Yeah, try not to, ok? You don’t want that”, she said with a very serious tone.

“But Richie is both alive and dead…and maybe I am the same…How…?”, he didn’t even know what to ask anymore.

“Quantum physics at its best”, she grinned.”How familiar are you with it?”

Jon blinked confused at her, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Why again hadn’t they approach some MIT guy was beyond his understanding.

“Do I look like Stephen Fucking Hawking to you? I’m a rockstar, for Pete’s sake. I write lyrics, not abstract theorems”.

“The two don’t mutually exclude themselves”, she lectured him. “Brian May did both”.

Jon’s initial confusion transitioned to irritation. He didn’t even dislike the man, how could he, but seriously, couldn’t he have kept his area of interest to a more normal one and not settle a bar impossibly high?

“Then go talk to him and leave me and my band alone, what do you say?” he retorted.

“Oh, come on”, she giggled.” Everybody knows something about quantum physics. Schrodinger’s cat? Wanted dead _and_ alive memes? No? No bell? Pff…Shame”, she puffed. 

Jon’s eyes allowed the confusion back and now he stared at her both confused and angry.

“Rockstar! Rock-star!” He spelled it just like she had spelled her name earlier. “No fancy PhD!” The hell if he had heard that name in his life. And why the fuck all these cats had impossible names? Was some kind of world conspiracy?

“Ok, let’s forget about the cat”, she smiled conciliatory. “The thing is you can be both dead and alive at the same time, but when your master consciousness, we have only one of that by the way, focuses on one of the circles you are only in one state. And it absolutely matters where your master consciousness was when death happened. So if you die here, that we’ll make the whole thing collapse. The circles will find a way to shut themselves down because you can’t acknowledge them anymore. I know, it sucks. But try to stay alive if you don’t want to end prematurely in all universes”.

“So if I have an accident there”, he started and made a short pause horrified by the idea, “I will never be able to go back”.

“Yeah…But don’t worry”, she reassured him. “That circle is safe for now. Stop worrying about that one. Concentrate on this one, or the next one”.

“But I don’t fucking know how to go back!” He outburst. “You’ve ruined my way with your theory. Why don't I react like other human beings? Why is it so hard for me?” He whined.

“Well, I don’t have an expert opinion”, she started calmly, “but I could take a wild guess. It’s so hard for you because …because you’re a stubborn ass, that’s why!” She shouted. “Keep your stink eye for someone else, rockstar!” she snarled at him. “Seriously! We’re talking universes and times and devices, you’ve experimented with them and still a part of you wonders if you’re not crazy or something. You are like those people who are clinically fine but can’t move. You are too anchored in the world as you knew it. Let go! The world is not like that and right now you know more about it than Stephen Hawking, since you’ve mentioned him. So relax, have a drink, have a cigar, have an orgy, sacrifice a virgin, whatever the hell relaxes you, and stand up and walk right into your past. And do something to allow your memory to come to you or else…”

“Else what?” he asked, leaving aside the virgin thing. He would have liked to tell her she got the band wrong again.

“Well…”, she hesitated for a moment like she didn’t know if to tell him that or not because she knew he would not like the answer, “people can’t go back to moments they don’t remember. And once in a circle, you can’t go to moments that have never happened there. Another shitty limitation.”

“How the hell do I know what happened and what not?” he asked terrified by the perspective.

“Exactly!” she agreed as if she had given him the solution, not just one more thing to worry about.

“So basically I’ll be caught in some inner circles or something”, he assented.

“To a greater extension, they are all inner circles, but yes. You can end up like that. Kind of. I mean, you can always go to the age of 2 and do something that has a great chance to not truly affect your life. If you remember something from that age”.

“And you’re telling me people actually enjoy this?” he asked both incredulous and annoyed.

“Yes. The more they stay in one universe the more they forget about the rest. It becomes home. A defense mechanism of the human mind that helps people cope with unsettling events. Any kind of events. And probably the thing that keeps them from coming back to the life they once considered original.”

Denbora bent and took the crowbar from the floor and Jon’s body instinctively tensed.

“Relax, I’m just putting it back”, she said without even looking at him. “Are we done here? I was enjoying my night out and you ruined it”.

“One more thing. Dreaming, not dreaming…whatever. I always wake up in the present. Why not future, or a random day in the past, or simply the next day from the moment I went back?”

“Going back or forth is a deliberate thing. Theoretically, you could go back and relieve the life from that moment on, but in practice it’s not that easy. Present is your natural state and whilst is not impossible to ignore it, it’s really hard when you’re not conscious. Awake. You can slip back to present after minutes or hours, it’s basically up to you, but we can fairly assume that sleeping will always throw you back in the present.”

Jon pursed his lips, then pinched them together, but remained quiet. At least on that one, he acted like all the rest. Sleep had sent him back on all occasions.

“Jon, just a personal advice, if I may”. It was for the first time when she truly didn’t sound smug and all-knowing and Jon assented with a slight nod. “Look carefully at all the versions of you you’ll meet on your journey. You may not consider so, but they are all you. All. Don’t say ‘I wouldn’t have done that or that’ without seeing the whole picture first. I don’t say this is the key to going back, ‘cause it might not be, we are not in a cheap movie after all, but try to understand yourself”.

“I know who I am”, he said vehemently although he already knew it was not exactly so.

“We all know until we don’t, she said calmly. “We say we would give everything to make things right but when we have the chance we back off cowardly”, she flashed a Mona Lisa-like smile. “Now stick your head out that door and see if we can go out safely”, she instructed him amusedly.

When they were almost at the end of the hallway, it dawned on him that she could help him with one more thing.

“On my last trip back”, he started, “I left a letter for myself…because you know…I don’t remember shit…”

“Huh...Clever”, she giggled.

“Not so much, because I’ve ignored it gracefully”, he grumbled.

“You didn’t ignore it”, she said like she knew perfectly well he was going to ask her if she knew what had happened. “You can’t ignore something you don’t have and that letter never reached you. Richie never gave it to you”.

“What?” From all the possible unfoldings, that was one he had never imagined. He had beat his brains out over and over again trying to understand what the hell he had done with those papers, feeling so guilty and miserable, when in fact it had not been his fault at all. “Did he forget?”

“He deliberately tore it to pieces the next morning…without reading it”.

“The hell?!” He exclaimed a little too loud.

They stopped near the bar and Denbora scanned the room with her eyes for a moment.

“You know what all these people think right now? Including your friends?” She pointed with a perky smile on her lips to his table where everybody was ready to go and were probably wondering for some time where the hell he was.

“Well…they aren’t so wrong, after all”, he agreed. “You fucked the hell out of my brains!”

Denbora started to laugh, small electric explosions surrounding her as she did so and Jon went to his table without saying a proper goodbye to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long story short, the main ideas are these:  
> Jon doesn't need to dream, he can go back to any moment he has a memory of.  
> If he does something differently he will slip into an alternate universe which may be similar or very different.  
> He will always come back to present, his return being provoked by sleep or simply by the lose of focus. And he will not remember a thing. Unfortunately for him.  
> It's really not important who these women are or what they want, they've just helped me to create a background for the story. In the end, I can promise you this is not about science at all. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Jon hoped a long hot shower would be enough to reduce the buzz in his brain to a level that would allow him to fall asleep quickly but, to his desperation, that didn’t happen. The effect of the beers had been swept away by his encounter with Denbora and his plan to not think too much of her or their discussion had been blown away by David. They hadn’t got in the car yet when the keyboardist had dropped the question that, more or less, was on everybody's minds. 

“So, did you sign her?” 

Jon had initially blinked confused by the question - sign who and for what? - but when he turned to face Dave, the twinkle in the man’s eyes and the smirk he didn’t even try to hide hadn’t left room for any interpretation. Moreover, the other guys had failed, or maybe they hadn’t even tried, to muffle their giggles and to pretend they hadn’t intensively discussed where the hell he had disappeared for so long.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, had been his flat response, but all the way back to the hotel, David had continued with his less than evident hints, exasperating Jon with his insistence. At some point he had wondered how Dave would react if he told him the truth about the talented and apparently inoffensive woman. How would he react if he let him know she wasn’t human? How would he react if he told him in another universe he had met another one of her kind and he had considered her too worthy of his, of their interest? Would he run as far and as fast as he could from her or would he raise both hands to put his name on the list of brave volunteers for experiencing sex with another species? Jon had had to bite his lips at this thought to stop himself from bursting into laughter. 

He could totally imagine Dave shouting _‘Pick me! Pick me!_ ’ from a bunch of terrified or only reluctant men who didn’t know how to better hide one behind another. Truth to be told, Richie would have done the same. When they were young at least, if the woman was good looking, she could be Satan itself and Richie wouldn’t have cared. Maybe none of them would have cared. What did they know at that age? In a tacit battle for a derisory supremacy, they were driven by instincts and hormones, all agreeing that nailing a sexy multidimensional being was the best idea ever.

Maybe in his twenties, he wouldn’t have cared either but now was not the case anymore. His instincts had shouted ‘Danger!’ way before he knew it was something strange about them. From the moment Denbora had confirmed they were only human shaped, he had stopped considering even Amser as being sexually interesting and that was impressive because she looked like she was straight out of his fantasies. Whether it had been intentional or not, and Jon was more inclined towards the first option, Amser had shaped herself to his liking.The sardonic blue-haired barely legal girl was not his type and he was absolutely sure the dislike was mutual. The only sparks that could fly between them were the ones provoked by a verbal fight. He was grateful he had met her because she had offered him some answers, but God, he was even more grateful he was not going to see her ever again.

So just like that, with a simple question fueled only by his sneaky curiosity, Dave had shattered Jon’s attempt to give his brain a short break and a chance for all the new information to sink in. By the time they had reached the hotel, his brain was on fire trying to put the newfound bits of knowledge in order. Mission impossible! Half of what Denbora had told him he had barely understood. Maybe she was right and it would have been better if he hadn’t asked so many questions. Or simpler. _Or you could have taken some fucking notes, how about that?_ He scolded himself as he poured a glass of whiskey. He looked at the amber liquid and thought he would never drink it again once this adventure would be over, but for now it seemed to help him relax a bit and, according to Denbora, he really needed to do that.

He paced the apartment, barefoot and sipping from the glass from time to time, trying to organize in an understandable way all the facts he had learned. What gave him a sense of relief and held him back from attempting to turn back to a point that probably couldn’t change much was that Denbora had assured him Richie was indeed fine and that it was possible to go back. He was not conditioned by a date or by some event, there was no impossible tight deadline hanging over his head. Today, tomorrow, next week, it was only up to him.

If he had remembered anything from the last six years, he would have tried to go back to one of those moments. Ideally, he would have liked to remember all, and on June 16th 2014 just casually call Richie and say to him there was no need to see each other that day. That simple! A circle where they were still together was a circle from which he wasn’t sure he would ever want to leave. He couldn’t completely understand how the hell all circles could be equally real and he was sure some pangs of conscience would torment him from time to time but he could not deny that a circle like that was alluring. Nothing could guarantee that if he hadn’t died, Richie wouldn’t have left at some point, yet he’d have liked to see a universe like that, where 2013 and 2014 weren’t such turning points. 

As a matter of fact, that was what he had tried to create with his last visit to the past when he didn’t know that everything existed at the same time. A sharp pain coursed through his head as he remembered Denbora’s lecture about dimensions, spiders, notes, and funky named cats and he numbed it with a big gulp of alcohol, emptying the glass. He poured himself another one and resumed his pacing.

As he was circling around the couch in the living room for the umpteenth time, the question that has pulsated in the back of his mind since he had found out what had happened with the letter cried for his attention so loud that he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Why had Richie sabotaged his plan? Why had he thrown the papers away? Jon stopped for a second and took a sip from the glass feeling the alcohol invading his body and lowering his well-crafted defense walls. Thoughts he didn’t want to muse over again started to gain a voice in his head. Had Richie been sure he would not follow anything from that list and he hadn’t wanted to start a fight over some vodka-induced advice? Or was it something else? 

He tightened his fingers around the glass as the mix of sorrow, fury, and disappointment that had accompanied him after Richie’s departure found its way back to his mind and soul. Had their last night together been only a charade from Richie’s part? What the hell was he trying to save if this was the case? He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. It was a stupid thought. It had always been stupid, but one couldn’t count on a broken heart for much sense. Richie’s departure had shaken his world to the core and had made him doubt his beliefs, his memories, his whole life. To some degree, it had had the same effect as the revelation about the universes had had on him. 

But Richie’s last touches, his laugh, the hurt in his eyes, they all had been genuine. There was no reason to doubt the authenticity of Richie’s reactions in any universe and there was only one conclusion to be reached. The guitarist wanted their relationship back as much as Jon wanted it. There had to be a good explanation for his behavior in all universes, but it was improbable to find it out and that meant he had to work his way around it to fix things. Only Richie from the original universe could tell why he had left and only this Richie knew why he had torn the papers. And none of them was available for an interrogation. 

He turned on his heels and broke the dizzying walking around the couch. A step forward. One back. So easy! A step to the right. One to the left. No biggie! He was waltzing on his own in the middle of the room and he felt absolutely ridiculous. And frustrated! His biggest problem was not that he could not remember shit. Even with all his memories intact, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything. He didn’t know how to stand up and walk! He simply didn’t! He had slipped in his past solely by chance, or accident, and that was a frightening thought. What if he wasn't able to do it again? A tiny part of him hoped that Amser would be fired, or demoted, or something equally bad if that was the case, but the rest of him didn’t find too much joy in that. Not if he proved to be the biggest sucker on planet Earth. But no! He won’t accept it! He would find a way to go back to the right moment in his past and re-enter his circle. It didn’t matter what he had to do for that. Kill his liver with whiskey, do yoga 24 hours a day, isolate himself in some Buddhist temple, it didn’t matter. He would do it! He emptied the glass and lay on the bed before the idea of being forever captive in that circle could blacken his mind again.

He unfastened the UTS and looked at those tiny black circles. All his lives. Well, all his lives plus one was a more accurate description. The current thicker circle was one that had not been predicted. Predicted by whom was another question that was crying for attention in the back of his mind when he really shouldn’t think about it. If the Time ladies didn’t care why would he, a simple mortal, care? It didn’t help him anyway. And it didn’t matter what event had actually triggered it. Why would it matter if his interaction with Denbora had created it or the fact he had stopped this Jon from doing a stupid thing had done it? _This Jon?_ he frowned. Wasn’t this Jon the actual Jon too? He blinked confusedly and partially amused at the UTS. There were a lot of Jons, that was for sure, and these were only the lives he could influence to some degree. There were billions of circles he could not even think of and the access to them was forbidden. What if David hadn’t quit Julliard, or what if Richie hadn’t learned how to play the guitar, or what if they hadn’t been born at all? Or his brothers, or worse, his parents? What if his parents had been different? Was it even possible? 

"What the hell am I doing?", he asked himself out loud puzzled by where his thoughts had veered. That could not even count as overthinking. It was beyond that. He really needed to leave the philosophical aspect to some other time and maybe for someone else. He just wanted his life back, the mysteries of the universe could wait. He looked again at the UTS, at all his accessible lives and silenced the questions that had sparked in his mind. He also concluded that the deja-vu sensation he had had when he had first seen those circles was just a product of alcohol and fatigue. A UTS he had never seen before, that was for sure.

"Maybe I should name you", he whispered and followed with his forefinger one of the bigger circles. In his original life, the one he didn’t even know by what circle was represented, he would be Jonny Alpha, of course. And in this one, maybe in the previous ones, he could be Jonny Beta. And in the next one, whatever it might be, he could be Jonny Gamma. And then what? What was the next letter in the Greek alphabet? _Delta?_ It could be. He rolled his eyes and huffed. He didn’t like the hierarchy the alphabet was inducing. It made him feel one version was better than the other and, whilst he did feel he was better than the Jons he had visited until now, he didn’t want to put a flawed label on any of them. As Denbora had said, they were all him and he didn’t like to think of himself as a Beta even if it was just a naming thing. He didn’t understand and he didn’t agree with this Jon he had just saved, but that didn’t mean the poor guy deserved to be a beta. Or some other fraternity name except for Alpha, for the matter. If he wanted to name his versions, he needed to find another naming system. It was clear a hierarchical one didn’t work. _So, Jonny Alpha_ , he tried again. Jonny… _Prime_ ? That sounded nice. Prime was a good option. And then maybe Jonny… _Uno_. He burst into laughter before he could properly end that thought. He didn’t know if his Italian heritage or the earlier Spanish potpourri were the guilty ones for that name, but Jonny Uno sounded utterly ridiculous. 

"Ok, time to sleep", he concluded. He put the UTS back at his wrist and he killed the lights, however, his thoughts didn’t get the cue. He tried to ignore them for a while, they were not so coherent after all, but at some point, one thought distinguished from the others. Before they had exited the deposit room, Denbora had told him something that at first sight had nothing to do with his situation, yet it could prove to hold the key for his returning. What was he disposed to sacrifice to keep Richie alive? He knew it was not the case, as she had explained it was a matter of action and reaction, not a cheap movie, yet he couldn’t stop thinking of that possibility. What if he had to take a drastic decision to bring himself back? If for some reason, he was not able to jump into a circle where Richie was alive, how far into their past was he willing to go and what was he disposed to change? He vaguely remembered a movie where a guy had gone to the point where he had chased away his lifetime crush when they were kids just to keep her safe. That was an exaggeration, but the question remained. How much was he disposed to change?

Suddenly, he envisioned his life as a long rope on which thousands of photos were hanging, each one corresponding to some event he remembered. He wasn’t sure where that idea had come from and it wasn’t working very well, because the rope had a lot of empty chunks and he was sure he did remember more than that. Or maybe he was just very, very tired. Or already half asleep, caught in that weird state where nonsense seemed perfectly logical. Like those hanged pictures coming to life when he concentrated on them seemed normal now. He smiled in the darkness of the room and swept his imaginary hand through the imaginary photos making them gently sway. 2019, 2013, 2010, 2006, 2000, 1996, 1992, 1989. So many years fluttered under his eyes. He didn’t stop at any of them. His imaginary hand kept going, stroking photos from years that seemed from another life. 1988, 1985, 1983. His hand rested on an image he had had to recall many times. A young Jon, with that mane he called hair and those ripped fabrics he called clothes - and they were not yet at their worst peak, was about to enter the small rehearsal place they had back then. The band was not complete, they still missed a good guitarist and he was not yet convinced Sambora was the one. His mind would change in the next minutes, but young Jon didn’t know that. He pushed the door oblivious of what the next minutes would mean for their lives. 

The music hit both himself and young Jon. It’s strange how he could sense what his younger version was feeling and at the same time acknowledge his present feelings. Like he could see a scene from two different points of view. Young Jon was about to say ‘Okay! You’re in!’ but he was not ready to stop the music, so young Jon remained quiet. They both liked that raw sound that would only get better and better over the years. The guys finally saw him and stopped. They all knew Richie was the missing piece. They all waited for young Jon’s confirmation, but he didn’t say anything. Young Jon seemed confused and, for a second, he was too. That two points of view thing was exhausting as hell. He was young Jon after all. The rope with all its photos disappeared as suddenly as it appeared and now he could see Alec, and Tico, and Dave, and Richie like he was there, not like he was watching a movie. God, they all looked so ridiculous with those haircuts and those clothes! He smiled and the guys took that as a good sign. 

"That was nice", he said and approached them, "but I don’t think you’re right for us". Even in his imagination, it was hard to sound serious saying that. A deaf man could tell they have the potential to sound fucking amazing together. Confused silence fell over the room.

"What the fuck?", Alec was the first one to speak up his mind.

"Sorry, man! You’re good, don’t take me wrong…", he said with the help of his younger version.Telling Richie he was good felt absolutely risible and he had to take a pause to swallow his laughter. It was like telling Dylan he was good at writing lyrics.

"But not good enough?" It was Dave who spoke this time. As he turned to him, he sensed Tico had stood up and looked like he wanted to spear his head with his drumsticks and that provoked another smile he had to hide.

"Not fit for what I have in mind", he corrected Dave. 

"It sucks! Whatever you have in your mind, it sucks!", the keyboardist concluded. 

He was totally amused by how his own mind could not accept rejecting Richie was a possibility and it made that clear by having his friends’ younger and imaginary versions snarling at him. However, when he turned to Richie again, he wasn’t amused anymore. The man was visibly hurt and Jon’s first instinct was to hug him and tell him it all had been a joke. A game. He was just exercising for a very improbable situation. 

"It’s for your own good", he said instead and fought his urge to touch him. The guys gathered around him, demanding a serious reason for his refusal, but he could not take his eyes off Richie. The man remained pinned down with the guitar hanging on his neck and was not able to say a thing. He looked like a kid who just found out there is no Santa Clause. "I’m sorry...", he murmured before Dave put a hand on him and forced him to face them.

"My band, my rules!" He decreed falsy emphatically. He had used that line on many occasions, but he never wanted to slap himself as he did now and he didn’t even manage to sound serious. He barely managed to fight back another grin. He was in trouble. If Richie’s life depended on that moment, the man was practically dead. Or maybe, if it was a real situation, he would say a categorical ‘no’ without hesitation. He sighed as he realized he was overthinking again.

He shifted his position in bed and their younger versions slowly vanished. There was no point in trying to revive an absurd scene, one that his mind had started to close even before it completely disappeared. The guys left the room one by one. First Tico, then Dave. Alec would have been probably the next one, if he hadn’t moved and hurried the end of that twisted drill. He turned and tossed a few more times until he found a position that seemed just perfect and in less than five minutes he was deeply asleep.

He could not tell what had disturbed his brain so bad, but by the time he opened his eyes he knew something was off and the strange metallic tingling was already present on his tongue. Maybe it was the fact he hadn’t recognized, again, the alarm ringtone. Or maybe it was the fact he had reached for his phone in the opposite direction from where he had actually found it. Or maybe it was the light, too bright for a Madrilenian morning, that threw him off. Whatever it was, he wasn’t too surprised when he blinked his eyes open and saw an unfamiliar decor around him. However, he was frightened. What the hell happened? 

Before he checked the location, he tried to remember where he was supposed to be on that date. Maybe the last weeks had been only a nightmare after all. It was a nice thought, one that he quickly had to drop. His phone informed him he was in Milan and while he wasn’t sure in which city the original THINFS tour was currently in, he remembered clearly Italy was not part of their itinerary. So no miracle had happened. He was still trapped. He looked at the UTS on his wrist and gasped in surprise when he saw the circles. That was not the configuration he knew by heart. It looked a lot like it, but it wasn’t the same. 

"Fuck!…"

He rubbed at his eyes, he scratched his head, he even gave himself a few quick light slaps on the face to completely wake up, but the circles remained in that unfamiliar position. Was that a new circle? Was it an existing one? He simply could not tell. And how the hell did he get to Italy? He didn’t do anything…

"Oh no…", he muttered feeling the blood was drained from his body. At the same time, the metallic tingling exploded in his mouth and overflowed all the way to his toes, the combination leaving him so dizzy that for a second he thought he would throw up or faint. 

"I can’t be that stupid…", he whispered when the sensation dissipated, but on the next moment, his pulse skyrocketed as the realization of what he had done settled in. He had stood up and walked into his past and instead of jumping around in joy that he could do that, he was standing petrified in the middle of the bed. Just like the first time, he had done it without being aware of what he was doing. And now, chances were he had screwed up things really, really bad.

"Shit...", he hissed and shook his head, downright astonished by his unskillfulness, then unlocked his phone. He really didn’t know what to expect from Wiki this time. Not for Richie and not for him. Out of habit, he checked Richie’s name first. ‘Richard Stephen Sambora was…’. _The hell?!_ ‘Best known as the lead guitarist of the rock band Bon Jovi…’. That made no sense. If he stood up and walked that meant Richie shouldn’t have been in the band. And if he didn’t stand up and walk then what the hell did he do? Hadn’t they been in Madrid last night? How much had he drunk? He frowned in absolute confusion glancing between his phone and the UTS. Had his encounter with Denbora shaken up the circles that bad? She had told him their unpredictability could confuse the UTS, but not that he would be confused too. Slipping in a new circle should have been smooth, unnoticeable without a tracking device.

"This is madness", he whispered and let out a long exhale, thinking again that he should have taken some notes. He stared for a while into the distance without being able to gather his thoughts into something coherent. At some point, he decided he could think better after a shower and a coffee, so he got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. At least now he didn’t have to question the nature of his reality. He knew he was not mad. Maybe lost, but not mad. That was an assuring thought. He absently turned the water on and washed his face, but when he looked in the big mirror above the sink, his reflection almost gave him a heart attack. He took a step back frightened by the sight, then got as close as he could to the mirror like he could not trust it. Or his eyes. How the hell could he trust that reflection? He looked…good. Younger. He ran a hand through his hair and held a strand in front of his eyes so he could look at it both directly and in the mirror. The silver hair glistered among the dark blond one, but it was not yet prevailing. So his hair was not dyed. But it was not completely gray either. 

"What the fuck is happening here?", he wondered again and abandoned the idea of a shower. He needed coffee. A lot of it. Or maybe some obscenely strong alcoholic drink. That sounded even better and if the reality still didn’t make any sense, at least he could blame it on the alcohol.


	16. Chapter 16

For half an hour he tried not to think at anything and just have his breakfast in a self imposed silence. It wasn’t an easy task as curiosity and bewilderment were urging him to leave aside the hotel’s breakfast offer and feed on whatever information he could find about the reality of that strange circle. He pushed away the plate although he hadn’t even eaten half of what he had intended to, and put the UTS on the table. What the hell was that combination? It was the worst starting point for his research, but he simply couldn’t get over that unexpected change. For days that screen had been dead and now it had gone mad. It was like it wanted to make up for its previous stillness.

He was so absorbed by those circles that he didn’t realize someone was standing next to him until the UTS was taken away from his sight.

“What’s this?” Dave asked, curiously inspecting that object he had taken in his hands.

“Uhm…A…puzzle”, Jon answered cautiously, quickly scanning his friend from head to toes. The man looked as always. Or maybe his hair was shorter? It could be. How the hell was he supposed to know? He had never paid attention to Dave’s haircut and he never imagined a ‘spot the difference’ moment like this would ever come.

“And what do you have to do to solve it?” Dave asked, slightly frowning.

“Have no fucking idea”, Jon responded frankly. 

“But you tried the notorious muscles over brain method, I see”, the keyboardist observed amusedly.

“It’s designed like that”, Jon lied, making David chuckle.

“Sure it is”, he handed it back with a smirk on his face. “So, you ready?”, Dave changed his tone to a more serious one. “Steve is waiting for us in the car.”

Jon drowned his confusion in a mouthful of coffee, faintly confirming that he was, then got up and followed Dave. He didn’t have the slightest idea who Steve was and why he was waiting for them in a car. He really needed to make a checklist and never leave his room before having at least some basic information about the universe he was going to dig into. He encouraged himself at the thought this one could not be that different, after all. The band existed, they were probably on tour, and Richie was still dead. If the circles didn’t mind the cities, chances were they didn’t mind his hair either. It was a soothing thought.

Once in the car, Steve started talking as soon as they closed the doors. They were not even moving and the guy had already presented half of that day’s schedule and details about the upcoming show he should have known but he didn’t. So Steve was the tour manager. Apparently the circles didn’t care much for those either because Jon had never seen that man in his life. However, the tour was indeed THINFS. And they had a show that night, a thing that made Jon mentally roll his eyes. He would have totally preferred to have landed on a two days break, but if this circle looked anything like the previous ones, such a break probably didn’t exist.

“Jon, your wife called me last night”, Steve interrupted his thoughts.

“She what?”, Jon startledly asked. Luckily, his voice came out more as a whisper than a proper stunned exclamation.

“She didn’t want to bother you at that hour and she wanted to let me know too about the change of plans…. Anyway, she can’t make it tonight, so I guess after the concert you’ll fly to Rome like everybody else if you’ll meet her directly in Verona for the weekend, right?

Jon mumbled something completely unintelligible to any other human, but Steve took that as a yes. The singer calmed himself at the thought that it was possible for Dorothea and the kids to be in Europe, enjoying a vacation without him and only meeting in certain cities. Not very probable, but possible. It was just that Verona was an odd choice.

“I had to change the hotel in Verona, by the way, but I think you’ll like this one more”, Steve informed him.

“Why? Does it come with access to the sea?”, Jon couldn’t help to ironically ask. It was the middle of the summer and he couldn’t imagine his kids, especially the boys, being thrilled by ruins and romantic streets. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was, how could they be? He vaguely wondered what they had done so wrong that they had been so harshly punished and taken away from some cool beach.

“Like you gonna see anything else except the ceiling for two days”, Dave laughed and Jon initially gave him a puzzled look, but when he sensed Steve was biting his lips in a professional attempt to stop his foolish chuckles, he knew he needed a good comeback.

“Is that all you can do?”, he snarled although he wasn’t sure what the hell he was asking. However, both men seemed to clearly understand that he was not at all amused by Dave’s retort regardless of what it actually meant.

“Yeah, ok, so Rome tonight”, Steve confirmed again then buried his eyes in his tablet and for the rest of the ride he kept himself busy with it.

Jon made a mental note to call his wife later and find out first hand what their plans for that summer were. For some reason he didn’t like Steve or his way of dealing with their stuff too much. Or maybe he didn’t like the feeling of letting his life, professional and private, in unknown hands. _ “It’s just temporary” _ , he reminded himself. If he had been sure he could stand up and walk in whatever moment he chose from the past, he wouldn’t have tried so hard to act normal. He would have locked himself in his apartment for five or ten minutes, or how the hell would take him to decide where and when to go, and that would have been all. But because he had no idea how he had entered this universe, he had to fake some normalcy for now. It just felt the right thing to do.

Although he already knew there was a possibility to be caught off guard by some things, the abundance of differences between this version of the tour and the previous ones startled him. It had happened to him to not recognize two, three people from the crew, but now it seemed like a completely new lineup. He didn’t know anyone and it was quite stressful to pretend it was not the first time when he was seeing those people. David was effortlessly checking item after item on their to-do list before the show and Jon was both grateful and horrified by that. Since when was Dave in charge of anything?

“You alright?”, the keyboardist asked him at some point.

There was no right answer to that question. An activity that should have brought him a sense of familiarity was slowly but surely transforming into a hassle. He could lie and say there was nothing wrong, but a sudden feeling that there was more to discover about that new environment kept Jon from giving an affirmative response.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep too well”, Jon decided that was a safe statement. “I’ll be fine”, he added because it was not really his style to whine after having only one bad night.

“I can go by myself for the interview this afternoon, if you don’t feel OK”, Dave offered to Jon’s surprise. “Or I can take Teek with me”, he smirked. “It wasn’t fair anyway for him to have a gelato and a massage while we’re stuck in a hotel room answering those same old boring questions.”

“I guess some rest before the concert would be a good idea”, Jon approved slightly hesitant. Dave acted like there was nothing extraordinary in his proposal and Jon wasn’t sure if it was some kind of prank or they had actually made a habit out of randomly representing the band in interviews. If that was the case, he really didn’t want to take part in one. He still hadn’t forgotten the awful experience in France and he wasn’t keen to make a fool out of himself again. God knew what those same old boring questions actually were. Or maybe not even God, but a debate over His existence and powers was the last thing he should think of. He had the rest of his life to ponder over that if he truly wanted.

“Then let’s end up here faster and get back to the hotel”, Dave didn’t seem at all bothered by that change of plans.

Although a part of him was very unhappy with that display of unprofessionalism, he knew a few hours for himself before the concert might be his gateway, his chance to smoothly and stealthy leave that circle and leave this Jon doing his business as he pleased. He was still oscillating between ‘it’s a new circle’ and ‘it’s the same’, but the sensation that this reality was heavily altered was steadily gaining a lead, giving him the distinct feeling he was walking on very thin ice. A feeling he deeply hated.

“I think everybody is here, maybe we can start the soundcheck earlier”, Dave continued and pointed to a group of people next to the stage. Jon let the keyboardist finish whatever was left to be done and went to them. What were the chances that he had misread the Wiki page? That universe felt strange enough to allow a miracle. For a few steps, hope sprang in his heart, but then he saw Phil and the unexpected optimism evaporated. 

Hugh, Teek and Phil, looking like themselves for what Jon could tell, jovially greeted him and for about ten minutes the discussion felt perfectly normal. The usual morning chitchat. Then Tico casually handed him the setlist and Jon barely managed to hold back an astonished yelp when he saw the first title. He glanced towards the stage, noticing for the first time since he was there that the unfinished setup didn’t announce to be a familiar one when ready, then read again that more than awkward choice for the intro. ‘Who would you die for’. For a few moments he was torn between starting to laugh and screaming out loud his frustration. Those circles loved the fucking ‘Burning Bridges’ album, that was for sure. But then he checked the entire list and this time a whistled ‘Fuck me…’ departed his lips.

There were no more unknown songs and, to his surprise, he felt a sting of regret that ‘Here without you’ and ‘Stranger’ weren’t currently on their playlist. He had gotten used to them, even ‘Saturday Nights’ he had had to admit it sounded pretty awesome live, and their absence was raising an unsettling dilemma. Why were they not grieving for Richie in this universe? If he was dead, and according to Wiki he was, why was that ritual missing from the show?

The first answer that came to his mind ignited a strong self-loathing feeling that made his stomach painfully twitch. The song didn’t exist! This Jon hadn’t suffered like all hell when Richie had died. He was so disgusted by that possibility that he almost turned on his heels with the intention to abandon that ‘act normal’ strategy and get out of there as soon as possible. But then he remembered how ‘Here without you’ had become a thing. Fans had started it. Just because the song didn’t appear on the setlist, it didn’t mean he was a cold-hearted friend. Maybe in this unfolding of his life, that group of fans that had accidentally started the ritual had never attended the right concert. There was no reason to not give this Jon a chance.

However, this Jon had to redeem himself pretty quickly, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be on stage tonight given that setlist. He could feel his vocal cords hurt only by looking at those titles. ‘Dry County’, ‘Hey God’, ‘If I was your mother’. They were riding high, there was no doubt about that, and he wasn’t even sure if he still knew all the lyrics to some of those songs. No, that was not correct. He was actually sure he didn’t know them, ‘cause how many times had they played ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ live? Once? More than a decade ago? And how the hell were they sliding from that bizzare intro to ‘Hook me up’? He was both curious and scared by that combination.

“Ready?”, Dave chirped and he nodded although the only thing for which he was ready was to crawl under the stage and stay there until the night was over. Following the guys on stage he thought he was undeniably walking on very, very thin ice. He passed by Phil on his way to the microphone, but turned to him before he reached his place.

“Where’s Shanks?”, Jon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Who?” came Phil’s answer totally matching Jon’s puzzlement.

“ _ Oh, shit! I’ve killed this one too! _ ” was the first thought that crossed Jon’s mind but he quickly realized it was not the case. Phil didn’t look like someone who was astonished that Jon was asking of another dead member. Phil looked like someone who simply didn’t know that name. Not in Bon Jovi context anyway.

“Nevermind”, Jon mumbled and went to David. Since he had already let out a nonsensical question, he figured out he could afford one more.

“Dave, what happened to ‘Stranger’?”, he dared to ask.

“What stranger?”, the keyboardist frowned.

“Stranger in this town”, Jon explained with a ‘What the hell is this question?’ underlying in his voice.

“Dude”, Dave smiled contradicted after a few moments of silence, “is this some twisted kind of knock-knock joke? Cos I don’t get it!”, he admitted candidly.

The two men looked one into each other’s eyes, none of them understanding the other.

“Yeah, I didn’t get it either”, Jon finally said and turned away.

“Hey, can we start with that ‘Bad Medicine/Old time rock n roll’ mashup? And stick to the script for once…”, Dave amusedly admonished him.

“Sure”, Jon agreed. It was strange they were still doing it, but at least it was something he knew. He went to the microphone whispering a ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ to himself. Just like Phil had never heard of Shanks, David seemed to have never heard of his own song.

He shook his head, trying to keep at bay the metallic tingling that was menacing to erupt once again in his body. He was going to read the whole Wiki from one end to another once the rehearsal was over, but for now he had to concentrate. The guys started playing and when he opened his mouth to sing the first line he was so taken aback by how his voice reverberated in the empty arena that he couldn’t help an uncensored exclamation.

“Holy fuck!” hit everybody’s ears.

It was no wonder the setlist looked like a revival of the 90s. He could sing. He could fucking sing! 

The music stopped and all eyes were inquiringly cast on him. He froze for a few moments, not knowing what to say or do, but in the end he waved his arms dramatically through the air like he wanted to get rid of something.

“That was the biggest fat ass wasp I’ve ever seen in my life!” he said, innocently mimicking stupefaction, hoping he would sound credible enough. It was the only saving idea that he could come with.

“Did you kill it?” Dave asked, fearfully eyeing the surroundings and ducking from an invisible enemy. “You guys can run from it, but Teek and I are stuck in place.”

“Tico will smash it between his cymbals”, Hugh laughed.

“I will deafen it! I'm against violence!" Tico stated.

"Chill, Dave! It’s a known fact deaf wasps can’t sting!” Hugh continued to tease the keyboardist.  


“Sure, it’s easy to laugh when you’re not allergic”, Dave snarled at him.

“It flew away!”, Phil chimed in and Jon turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed in a confusion that only got bigger and bigger. The guitarist smiled and gestured a vague ‘Kids! What can you do?’ and Jon knew right there and then that that circle he had inexplicably entered that morning had to be a fresh one, straight out of the circle factory, because nothing else could explain that reality.


	17. Chapter 17

Jon opened the glass door and went out on the balcony, carefully avoiding the scorching sun rays which at that hour were bathing only half of the outdoor space. With his phone in one hand and a glass of ice tea that had been deprived of any ice in the other, he took a seat on the comfy armchair. The rehearsal had left him so bemused that he didn’t even feel the need to drown his confusion in alcohol anymore. He already felt disagreeably dizzy. It had also left him without too much free time before the concert, because this version of his band was as picky as can be and despite his best efforts to anticipate how the songs were played in this universe, he had faltered a few times.

Everybody’s stumbles had been treated with humor, but definitely not in a superficial way, and Jon had silently and curiously observed their group dynamic because it was so different from the one he was used to. Although they did seek for his approval, they didn’t seem to rely exclusively on it which, given the fact he was so out of phase with their current playlist, was a good thing. Yet no less eerie. 

Jon took a sip from his tea and looked at the big movie poster that was covering most of the nearby building. The title didn’t sound familiar but maybe it had been lost in translation. Italians, among others, had a twisted pleasure to reinterpret the hell out of some movie titles to the point where they didn’t have anything in common with the original ones. This particular one ended up being called ‘The girl who never lived’, but its real name could be anything. ‘Red’ - the poster was basically monochrome, a big display of different shades of red, ‘Unknown’ - for what he could tell, the lead female actress, which was captured in such a way that gave the impression she was looking right into your soul whilst she was not even looking at you, wasn’t yet a big name in the industry, ‘Vertigo’ - because that was how he was feeling and the futuristic graphic didn’t alleviate his dizziness much, on the contrary, it deepened it. All those names were valid options for a dystopian action movie like this one seemed to be and maybe he would have searched for it if he hadn’t had more important things to ask Google. 

Jon opened Richie’s Wiki page again to make sure he hadn’t misread it. But no! It was all the same. ‘ _Was’, ‘Bon Jovi’, ‘died’, ‘car accident’, ‘November 29th…”November what?!”_ he frowned. ‘ _2013_ …’. “ _2013_?!” The hell was with that date?! He took a deep breath wondering if he should search for the details of this accident or not but in the end he opted for not doing it. Not for now, at least. 

_“This is nuts”_ , he thought whilst typing the question he had answered many, many times over the years. ‘How did Bon Jovi form?’ The Wiki page didn’t say much and Jon quickly concluded that that page sucked. There had to be more than ‘they were impressed by his playing’ behind his acceptance into the band. Richie had gotten a ‘no’ first and in any normal world that would be a story to be told again and again.

‘How did Sambora join Bon Jovi?’, Jon tried to be more specific. He scrolled down until he found a site that seemed to tell the story just right. Sipping from his tea from time to time he read that ancient article. Was it an article? It looked like a book, but he could only see a few pages from it.

“ _Oh, come on! Don’t tell me I need to buy my own biography now!_ ”, he huffed then fixed his eyes on the poster. “Whatcha looking at?”, he snarled at the impassive woman. “Can you tell me the history of my own band? The hell you can!”. He didn’t like the sudden fury that rose from somewhere deep within him and he shook his head in a silly attempt to get rid of it. “You probably weren’t even born at that time …”, he said in a softer tone then moved his attention back to his phone. A few pages to read were more than nothing. It was a start.

He mostly eyed the first paragraphs for they were depicting events he remembered correctly. There was no surprise in how Dave, or Tico, or Alec had been picked for the band. The only enigma was Richie. A hint of melancholia mixed with a sting of sorrow curled Jon’s lips into a strange smile as he quickly read bits of what was the description of Richie’s first attempt to convince him he was the one. Bold as much as unnatural. Absolutely amusing to think of it after 20 years. Quite heartbreaking after 30. Jon sighed and read further. He was stepping on unknown territory.

‘ _Sambora had come to impress and by the time Jon arrived, having been unexpectedly delayed elsewhere, the four musicians already sounded satisfyingly good together. Jon remembers entering the room and being hit by their playing, however he didn’t act like that was the case. Richie can laugh now, but he surely couldn’t do it at that moment. “Man, I was devastated. Devastated! What can I say? I really fell for his acting. We all did!” As expected, Jon’s refusal wasn’t welcomed with open arms. Tico left the room without a word and he was fairly determined to never come back. However, he yielded to David’s pleadings and turned back. The keyboardist gathered the guys around Richie and dryly informed Jon that they came as a whole. “All or none. Your choice!”. Their unity impressed the singer even more than their sound and he knew for sure Richie was indeed the last piece of the jigsaw. Years later he would say it all had been a test and they all passed it._ ’

Jon read that piece a few times and he still found himself staring confused at the phone, uncertain if he could trust that book or not. Biographies were subjective. To what the targeted person or persons remembered, to what they were disposed to tell, to what image they wanted to create about themselves, to how the author was willing or able to portray them. They weren’t technically full of lies, but they didn’t hold the naked truth either. In the best case, biographies were a mix.

Like this one had to be. There was no doubt Richie had been devastated and that Tico and Dave had left the room. He had seen that. He had provoked that. But what had followed didn’t make much sense to him now and it probably hadn’t made much sense then. That’s why he had come up with that test explanation. There was no test! That was just a funny excuse to cover up a temporary insanity.

However, that little hiccup in their beginning didn’t explain why the hell the present looked the way it did. Richie had been accepted in the band - which totally contradicted the way he thought the circles worked, but that was something he planned to think about after the concert - and according to Denbora it didn’t really matter how things happened if they happened. In his case, though, the present looked like that butterfly effect had kicked in full force.

His voice had stopped deteriorating probably somewhere in mid 2000s, he hadn’t gone gray, his band was acting all weird, his band was weird cos Shanks hadn’t gotten the memo to jump in this circle like Phil and Everett did, their concerts didn’t end with tear-jerker moments, and what baffled him the most was that this Jon seemed to be just fine. Why the hell was he fine? Had that little ‘no’ changed his relationship with Richie too? Hadn’t they become best friends?

There were so many questions to be answered and he was running out of time. He finished the now lukewarm tea and went inside. It was too fucking hot outside and, dizzy or not dizzy, he needed a serious drink.

The departure time for the venue found him with one too many drunk glasses of whiskey, a pretty well shaken brain, and with $5 poorer. At some point he had given in and he had downloaded that stupid book, 150 pages presenting a life and a band that only resembled his. It wasn’t the refusal per se the thing that generated that circle. The way the guys had stood up for Richie actually made the difference. That ‘All or none’ had become their motto in a strange way.

His research indicated that their first years as a band had not been so different from the ones he had lived. The struggles of the first albums, first tours and their inevitable problems, those cringing videos, the insane schedule, the first hints of burnout, they were all practically untouched. Somewhere in 88, however, the dynamics changed. In real life, the guys had followed him almost blindly and to this day Jon couldn’t exactly say why they had done it and how come they hadn’t irreversibly destroyed themselves along the way. In those times, the band was their only reason for being. They all wanted the same thing and worked their asses off to obtain it, there was no question about that. He had jumped with both feet in that madness and the guys had followed him.

In this circle, hell knows how, that potential deadly pursuit of glory was stopped. Bluntly. When the time for the ‘New Jersey Syndicate Tour’ came, a little too early after the previous one, the guys expressed their concerns. And when valid, well-supported reasons for why that tour was not such a good idea were dismissed one by one, they remembered that ‘All or none’ slogan. And they used it. It had worked once, why not twice? It was a dangerous approach, one that could have brought their end in the band, except it worked.

This Jon seemed to have a weakness when it came to the four of them uniting against him. He could not understand it, he _really_ could not understand it, but that’s how things were around here. He was tired of how many times he had shouted that ‘I wouldn’t have done that’ sentence Denbora had advised him to use with precaution. On numerous occasions he had thrown his phone determined to abandon the book, the hotel and the circle, then poured some more whiskey in his glass and down his throat, furiously pacing the apartment, before finally coming back to reading the story of that impostor.

The tour had not been canceled or postponed. They didn’t want that. They only asked for a more normal schedule and God knows how, cos Jon didn’t, they obtained it. And then the butterfly effect kicked in again. Those little changes - some skipped dates, some different cities - triggered a whole different series of improbable events. They didn’t end up the tour spent out behind recognition. He didn’t develop any aversion to confined spaces. They didn’t finish the tour sick of each other. They ended it as disgruntled as they had started it, which meant they were actually talking one to another. He didn’t elope with Dorothea to get married in a hurry, instead they had a proper wedding with all the guys and all the families attending.

He stared at a photo from that day for more than 15 minutes. He just couldn’t get over the image of young Dot wearing a wedding dress. He couldn’t! He wanted to laugh as much as he wanted to cry. It was ridiculous! She didn’t care for white dresses and stupid traditions, he knew that, and yet, seeing her so happy, smiling from an old photo with a cute bouquet in her hands, broke his heart in a way he didn’t know it was possible.

Of course, the fact they didn’t end up the tour on a silence strike and exhausted like all hell scrambled up the early 90s pretty bad. David didn’t know what ‘Stranger’ was because ‘Stranger’ didn’t exist. Richie had never made that solo album, instead he had done something else. He had helped this Jon write the ‘Young Guns’ soundtrack. Which was crazy and Jon had to look up for that album to see if it was the same. It wasn’t, although the album had still been a success. Only ‘Blaze of glory’ and ‘Santa Fe’ had magically escaped that twisted creative process and Jon sighed in relief. He had to sing ‘Blaze of glory’ tonight and they hadn’t rehearsed it earlier.

Just because they were talking to each other didn’t mean they were not in disarray. For a while it seemed there was no clear direction for them as a band, each one being happily involved in whatever other activities. Then one day, as on cue, they decided they kind of missed each other’s faces and that it was the time to seriously discuss where they were heading. Or standing. Apparently, the reunion had been more intense than the original one and that ‘all or none’ was invoked once again. Jon didn’t know why the book praised that slogan, making it a synonym for ‘one for all and all for one’, when for him it totally resembled some kind of emotional blackmail. There was no fellowship behind it, it was an ‘it’s me or you’ type of phrase, but this Jon had probably had had some obscure accident and hurt his head really bad, because he, too, was proud to say that ‘all or none’ had changed their lives for the better.

Everybody’s complaints had been pretty much the same, yet the way they approached them seemed phantasmagorical to Jon. ‘I feel you don’t know how much I do for this band’ was met by ‘then let us know’ or ‘we didn’t ask you to take it all on you’, and ‘you’re drawing all the attention on you’ by ‘oh, you want the spotlight? You can fucking have it!’. Some hours and frustrated screams later, they miraculously reached a conclusion that satisfied all of them and left him in complete awe, murmuring a ‘this did not happen’ like a broken record for more than five minutes.

They had always been a gang, but a gang with a leader, and suddenly they decided they didn’t like that structure anymore. They became partners. It wasn’t very clearly specified how, but the employer-employees relationship was forever forgotten and, more or less, everybody got involved in the not so fun logistical part of the band.

Jon thought that arrangement was a straight and fast way to disaster. If he hadn’t known the band still existed today, he could have bet they had disbanded in 93 at the latest. But they hadn’t. Somehow it worked. Instead of tearing them apart, that ‘all or none’ brought them closer. Getting a glimpse of how the machine behind the band really functioned made them more attentive, maybe even more responsible. Sure, they would come off the rails sometimes, but it was hard for five guys to lose their minds simultaneously and they seemed to be very good at choosing the time to speak their minds or shut the fuck up. 

Jon was sure he would have had a fucking stroke at some point if he hadn’t been in charge of everything. He was almost suffocating from indignation only reading about that wimp that bore his name and the book insisted to present as a clever frontman. What the hell was clever about him? And was he a frontman anymore?

The glass in his hands flew across the room as jealousy and frustration powered up and blackened his judgment. The sound of the cracking glass rang in his ears only worsening that atrocious feeling. This Jon hadn’t worked, hadn’t fought, hadn’t suffered as much as he had done it. It wasn’t fair to have the same outcome. It wasn’t fair they were still a successful band. It wasn’t fair this Jon had kept his looks, and his voice, and gained the fame. It simply wasn’t! It shouldn’t have been possible!

As he kept reading about their journey through the following years, he understood better how that outcome had been possible. Just because he had been unburdened by some duties, it didn’t mean he hadn’t kept working as hard as always. They all did. That’s how they were. That’s what had brought and kept them together. But there was no secret he didn’t know how or when to stop. Every time he thought he had learned that lesson, life proved him wrong. Life proved him wrong no more than a week ago because to this very day, that was a lesson he hadn’t truly learned.

Maybe this Jon hadn’t learned it either. After all, it was something he had never had to learn, as there always were others ready to pull on his sleeve to warn him he had crossed the line. A line that was already set considerably high. The guys were no snowflakes either, but when everybody’s batteries ran out they knew it was time to put the foot down. And they never faltered to do it.

Their tours didn’t look so different, but as it turned out, 10, 20 shows less or a different start date, made a huge difference. It was the difference between ‘I’ve missed my kid’s birthday’ and ‘I was there to see him blowing in the candles’, between ‘I barely made it to my father’s funeral’ and ‘I was there when he was sick’. And it was clearly the difference between still being able to sing and only pretending that was the case.

‘ _Break, safety net, fuel, guiding light, the one that goes astray. There are no fixed positions. Everybody has been through all. I guess we are lucky we never stumbled on the same one at the same time. Can you imagine three of us going nuts, fueling each other's insanities and only two trying to smooth things over? We would fucking disband in less than a year._ ’

Jon laughed when he read that statement. Its innocence, almost ignorance, was endearing. They had gone like that, with all the motors running for years and they hadn’t disbanded. It was funny how he and this version of his thought that things that would certainly destroy the band hadn’t actually had the power to do it. No matter the condition, they seemed determined to stick together for at least 30 years.

‘ _Nowadays it’s a well-known and accepted fact that a Bon Jovi interview is always a surprise. You never know who is going to show up until the interview actually starts. It is their trademark, but as they all say, it was nothing planned. Jon was tired and utterly disappointed to answer shallow questions about hair and women and Tico was tired to see him like that. ‘I’ve got this’, Tico recalls telling him one day. He sent the singer away, took David with him and presented themselves as the spokesmen of the band for that day. ‘What do you wanna know about Jon’s hair, hmm? Oh, nothing? Good, let’s talk about music then!’ Eventually, everybody understood how serious they were about their work and meaningless questions had become rarer and rarer, but by that time they had grown fond of that surprise factor._ ’

Jon shook his head in disbelief. Tico and David were doing pretty much the same thing right then, covering his amnesic ass, and he still didn’t understand how that arrangement worked. For a whole morning, he had been part of that mechanism and he still couldn’t believe it was a functioning one. It most surely hadn’t been an easy road, but now they had reached a point where he could do absolutely nothing before a concert and he could be sure everything was going to be OK if any one of them stepped in his place for a short time. 

The reason why that organization of the group hadn’t led them to disaster, in the end, was that they had never truly abused it. They had not become five wanna be leaders fighting for supremacy. They knew their roles and they were happy with them. They had no problem with him being the one steering the band in one direction or another. He was good at that. They were sure he was going to lead them the right way and he was sure they would stop him if they felt his right way was not that right after all. They trusted each other like that.

And that’s why he couldn’t understand why the hell Richie’s death hadn’t had a bigger impact on them. They should have been complete wrecks. All of them. They should have held hands and jumped together in the Danube by now. Several times! Instead they cracked jokes and had fun on stage on a world tour. It made no sense. They could do anything for each other, but not cry? One of their brothers had been killed - again in an accident that could have happened to anyone, as Google indicated - and they didn’t even have a fucking song about him. Sure, maybe here Richie was going to the damn supermarket when that demented driver crashed into his car, but with or without the guilt, their friend was dead. They should have done something. They should have given their fans the chance to start that ritual, they should have given them the chance to grieve.

Instead of that, they had canceled the tour. In this universe, the 2013 tour started later in the year and they were between legs when the accident had happened. They would have had enough time to find a replacement for Richie, Jon thought, but they hadn’t done it. They had simply stopped it and for three years they’d been surrounded in mystery and silence. No tours, no albums, no nothing. In this universe ‘Who would you die for’ was a THINFS track, not a Burning Bridges one. It would have been impossible to be so, as Burning Bridges didn’t exist.

Jon went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. From the mirror, his twisted twin eyed him inquiringly.

“You make me sick”, he spat disgustedly through his teeth.

“I’m you”, the reflection silently reminded him, smiling mockingly without moving a muscle.

“No you’re not…”, he decreed and turned on his heels. It was time to sober up a little because no matter how much he despised this version of him, a concert was a concert and he was a professional.


	18. Chapter 18

Go on stage, do your job, go back to the hotel, find a way to get out of this bullshit. That had been his plan. It was a simple, straight-forward plan, consisting in four little steps with only the last one having the power to raise some serious problems. He still wasn’t sure how exactly he had slipped in his past, but it was clear he had the ability to do it. Once he’d decided that that was a circle he didn’t want to deal with ever again, he only needed some time away from any potential witness. The idea of leaving behind a completely baffled version of himself having to deal with the reality without any time to recover wasn’t too appealing to him even though this Jon kind of deserved such a treatment. 

Plus, he wasn’t sure what the heck was happening whilst he was messing up with the past. For what he knew, his present self had always been asleep or half asleep during his more or less voluntary trips into the mists of time. He didn’t want to scare everybody around him with a catatonic state or God knew what else, so he hadn’t even thought to try to jump to some past moment after the concert was over as ‘the go back to the hotel’ step had been foiled by their schedule. They needed to get to Rome that night so they had been hauled to the airport right after the show. 

He simply hadn’t had the chance to be alone. That was the excuse he had used to silence that inner voice who cried that he really should get out of there. As quickly as possible! The truth was he had had the chance and he’d deliberately let it go. It was late at night when they arrived in Rome, but he had had some good hours to rest and he could have used some of them to find his way out. He chose just to rest and the next day he let himself be distracted by the routine of the tour, one that he could have easily broken if he’d wanted. “ _ I have to act normal _ ”, he had lied to himself again, but the reason for his stalling was simple. He wanted to go back on stage once more. Just once, it wasn’t such a big deal, right? 

Flawed from the start or not, his plan hadn’t at all taken into account the impression the concert would have on him. Yes, it was an unusual playlist, his voice was good, and the band was rather surprising, but it was just a concert. How special could it be? However, when that haunting and slightly different from the original ‘Who would you die for?’ instrumental part they used as an intro started, steadily growing in intensity before coming to a halt, he knew that that was going to be one hell of a show. He had goosebumps all over his body and he hadn’t yet faced the public. And when the music toned down and his enthrallingly chanted ‘Hello, is there anybody out there?’ washed over the crowd, spellbinding every soul in that arena, he simply knew he would not leave that circle before repeating the experience.

The raucous guitar in ‘Hook me up’ had sent the energy through the rooftop and ripped him off the ground, catapulting his being in that almost mystical state where he was a mighty sorcerer who could manoeuvre the crowd as he pleased. The passion emanating from the audience was so authentic, so powerful, and he was feeding on it like some kind of energetic vampire, feeling with each sung song more and more alive, capable of unimaginable things, a true Superman whose own skin could not hold him anymore. Nothing could compare to that sensation. It simply was the best feeling in the world.

He could declare he was more interested in writing the songs than in performing them, or he could tell himself that the days of frenzy shows hadn’t gone anywhere, they’d just transformed a little, and it was better now anyway, but deep down he knew he was just being delusional. The concert in Milan had just proved him that beyond any doubt. 

So he stayed for one more day. And whilst the crowd in Rome was still roaring, asking for a third encore which would not come, he was already thinking of their next concert. Somewhere around noon, when he had realized he hadn’t yet called Dot - practically destroying the vow to call her no matter what, no matter the circle, a vow he had taken after he avoided the disaster in Vienna - he wondered why he was in such a hurry to leave that circle.

It was a fucked up circle, sure, but at least he was not inexorably drawn to muddy rivers, the tour didn’t drain him from all his energy, on the contrary, and a weekend with his family awaited for him at the end of the night. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, his memory would come back and allow him to identify the right moment to go back to and stop Richie from going in the car on that day. Just because this Jon didn’t seem to care about his friend’s death didn’t mean he should not care. And maybe whatever was wrong with their relationship in this universe - and something had to be wrong since he was not crying his soul out every night on stage - could be easily fixed. It was rather utopic, but it was something to think about.

The level of the adrenaline rushing through his veins was so high that he had to force himself to come down from the stage only lightly jumping on the balls of his feet. His muscles were shivering under the effort, a constant buzz who would recede only hours later, when the last echoes of the concert would fade away. He was walking down the hallway to the dressing rooms, euphoric and more keyed up than a kid who just devoured all the sweets in the house, parents’ secret stash included, when a woman cut in front of him.

Before she threw her arms around his neck and shamelessly put her lips against his, he registered only two things: she was good looking and she was a stranger.

“Wha…”, he mumbled into the unexpected kiss, but his slightly parted lips were interpreted as an invitation, if any was needed, and now the woman’s tongue was in his mouth, feverishly writhing and reaching places Jon was pretty sure hadn’t seen a tongue in years. Not even his own. Long, delicate fingers tangled in his sweaty hair while her other hand tentatively brushed his ass, as she pressed her body against his, urgent and needy as if she wanted to melt herself into him.

Caught between the need for more adrenaline and the perplexity of his personal space being invaded like that, Jon’s already over excited body didn’t seem able to react in any way. At some point, with their last powers, his moribund morals signaled him that that situation was getting out of any line and he gingerly put his hands on her hips in a gesture meant to politely push her away but which didn’t have the power to fulfill its purpose. 

He wasn’t very convincing and she seemed determined to break that kiss only when one of them would give his last breath. Damn, that was a reaction he hadn’t gotten since…since they had a proper security team who knew how to avoid that kind of unwelcome event. Although their number had decreased over the years, the determined and totally uninhibited fans hadn’t totally disappeared. But they were being kept at a safe distance. What the hell was Matt doing? He was present in this circle, he had seen him.

With a regretful moan, the woman finally detached from him, leaving him in complete awe.

“Surprise!”, she crooned happily, her eyes twinkling with a childish excitement before she gave him a quick peck on his lips.

Ravished physically and mentally, he blinked confusedly at her as his intoxicated and now slightly oxygen deprived brain could not understand what the hell was happening. Even in that state he could clearly see she wasn’t an ardent fan who had been lucky enough to deceive the security. First, there was a pass hanging at her neck.

Second, she was not dressed like someone who had come to the concert with the sole intent to gun down her coveted prey. No miniskirt, no titillating high heel platforms, no dazzling cleavage, no trashy jeans or leather. She was wearing a simple, yet not cheap, tight high neck dark gray midi dress that accentuated her slim silhouette without over showing it and a pair of classic pointed toe black shoes with statement silver heels and an ankle strap fastening. She had graceful shoulders and lean arms, the kind that ballerinas had, and her slightly tanned skin looked sinfully smooth. Her black hair was caught in a carefully arranged bun, the kind that looked easy to be made, but probably required a team of professionals.

In total contrast with her previous behaviour, her whole being was now screaming elegance. She was not all giggly, climbed on her cloud no 9, or embarrassed by the sudden mad courage that made her approach her celebrity crush, she was not even blushing. It was nothing new in that scene for her. She had done it before.

“ _ The schmuck has a mistress _ ”, crossed Jon’s mind and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about that new piece of information about this version of him. The woman kept looking at him, big green eyes seeking his attention, and he suddenly had the sensation she was not as stranger as he initially had thought. He had seen her somewhere, but he could not recall when or where.

“Oh, hi Angie!”, Matt greeted her cheerfully and reached for a friendly kiss that she offered him happily.

So, she was not a fan. That was undeniable clear now. The problem was she didn’t seem to be a mistress either. The interaction between her and his brother didn’t look at all like he imagined his potential mistress would interact with Matt or any of the guys for the matter. What happened on tour, stayed on tour, that was a golden rule, but that almost domestic vibe the woman and his brother had seemed way too exaggerated for a temporary and illicit relationship.

“I thought you’re going to meet this one directly in Verona”, his brother smiled and pat Jon’s back bringing him to reality.

“Hey, Matty”, the woman smiled charmingly, “I basically had to run from the set…”

Jon didn’t hear the rest as bits of apparently random information that surrounded him since he had landed there gathered in one coherent and disturbing thought, brutally dragging him down from the concert’s highs.

“Excuse me…”, he mumbled and rushed to his dressing room, almost knocking the woman down in his bustle. He had realized why she seemed familiar and he didn’t like at all what the earlier scene seemed to actually mean. For a whole day, she had constantly looked directly into his room, whilst he had been in Milan. She was the woman from the movie poster. Angie. Angela Novak. He remembered reading her name and wondering if he had ever heard of her or not. 

He unceremoniously discharged the contents of his bag, frantically searching for his phone. All those hours spent on Google and it never crossed his mind to check his own name. It was like he had been sure that all that mess could only affect the band, not his family also. It seemed a fair rule for a game he hadn’t truly agreed to play. He typed in his name and closed his eyes. On that moment, he’d have gladly accepted the woman as his mistress if that had had the power to change what he knew Wiki was going to inform him. 

_ Spouses: Dorothea Hurley (m. 1989 - 2000), Angela Novak (m. 2005) _

_ Children: 3 _

His knees gave in and he felt on the floor as numbness and fury were fighting over which one would be the first one to enslave him. Divorced. That word spun in his head like an out of control circular saw blade, mercilessly chopping his brain. Divorced. ‘Jon, your wife called me…’. She had called, but he had never called back. He could never have called her back. Dot…His Dot. “ _ What have I done? How?! Why?! _ ”. 

Three. Only three kids. It wasn’t possible. It was not real. Jesse, Jake, Stephanie. Where was Romeo? Why was he missing?

“My little boy...”, he whispered. The nothingness that had tortured him in his first night in the first circle started to insinuate in his body, a venomous snake twirling around every cell, leaving him breathless and in excruciating pain. For a split second, his rational side had the power to remind him that that was a perfectly normal scenario as there were probably thousands of circles where one of the kids had never been born, or had another name, or a different birth date. This one just happened to be one of those thousands. But then, almost instantly, the feeling someone was ripping his being apart, convicting him for life to incompleteness, overrode his reasoning and he found himself gasping for air.

“My baby boy…”, he cried. “What have I done?…”

He barely registered a few knocks on the door and then a crystalline voice he already hated from all his heart.

“Jonny, hurry up! We have to go!”


	19. Chapter 19

He hated her. There was nothing else that could describe how he felt about her. He hated her in every sense of that word. By the time the plane took off, in his mind he had made her suffer in a variety of unimaginable ways. It didn’t matter that the poor woman wasn’t probably guilty of anything, except maybe for falling in love with him. He would have lost his mind if he had blamed only himself. He needed an enemy, another responsible for that mess, and she was the only one available for that role.

He had gotten up from the floor driven by a single overwhelming urge. To leave once and for all from there. But as he turned the water on for a quick shower, perfectly aware that he could have declared a tie between him and this version of him - one had the happy family, the other the voice, and none of them had Richie - and just disappear into another circle, vindictiveness possessed any trace of reasoning that had remained unaltered by that brutal shock. He couldn’t bring Romeo back, maybe not even Dot - this idiot didn’t deserve them anyway - but he could tamper with his marriage. Just like he had done with his.

Truth to be told, he didn’t know exactly what he could do to irremediably interfere in Angela and this Jon’s relationship. Ask for divorce and wait here for years until it was finalized didn’t seem a viable option. Ask for divorce and just leave would probably shake them a little, but he couldn’t be sure it was enough for a breakup.

“You seem troubled”, a discreetly perfumed hand caressed his face and he tilted his head in avoidance, clenching his teeth disgustedly. “You ok?”

Her phone rang and she answered it without waiting for his response which wouldn’t have come anyway. He got up and moved a few seats away. He could still see her - she had taken her shoes off and gathered her legs on a side under her, her bare feet now dangling above the narrow aisle - but he didn’t feel so sickened by her presence from that distance. 

Thirty years of marriage. This year, he and Dot celebrated thirty years of marriage. In this stupid universe they turned nineteen of separation. Rage seared through him as basic arithmetic showed that this second marriage already lasted longer than the only marriage he would ever acknowledge as real. How the hell had that been possible? What obstacle had they considered to be absolutely unpassable? And, ok, they had decided it was better if they parted ways, maybe in this universe he had screwed up one too many times, but come on, an actress? Had that ‘all or none’ motto washed his brain that badly? The young woman who was currently cluelessly giggling on the phone was the embodiment of everything he’d never wanted from a wife, how on earth had he married her?

The image of the huge poster girl, impassively yet mockingly witnessing his clumsy attempts to give that reality a sense, made his stomach tighten almost as if he was about to throw up. He shook his head whilst in his mind he was ripping the hell out of that poster and unlocked his phone. He needed to find out who the fuck Angela Novak was. Besides his trophy wife.

First he browsed again through that biography he had been forced to buy. How come had he missed such a drastic event as a divorce? It should have been mentioned and he should have seen it. After ten minutes of reading random phrases from different chapters, he understood what had happened. The book started with him being the center of attention, that was true, but it didn’t continue like that. When the dynamics of the group changed, the tone of the book changed too. The biography wasn’t about him, it was about the band and everybody’s personal lives had been left out. His wedding with Dorothea had happened before that ‘all or none’ phrase had the chance to really mess up everything, it was seen as a bonding moment and that’s why it had been slipped in a story that didn’t contain other insights about their families. So the book was useless now.

Google didn’t seem to be able to help him much either. He found some pictures and some headlines from that year, but nothing that could bring some light in the darkness that was this Jon’s life. As always, some shady magazines had tried to make a big fuss out of their problems, but may it be for the lack of gossip material, incompetency, or considerable bribe, they hadn’t succeeded. It had been a shocking divorce, but after all appearances, amiable if watched from outside. Whatever had happened between this Jon and Dot would forever remain between them, a thing he totally hated now. Secrecy sucked!

He didn’t need more reasons to hate Angela, but he kind of wished for her to be the home-wrecker that had lured him out of his happy marriage. It only seemed logical to be so, but as it turned out, that was really not the case. According to Google, they had met a year after the divorce had been finalized, on the set of a movie he knew nothing about, but in this universe he had starred in. Sparks hadn’t flown instantly between them, furthermore she was in a relationship at that time, and only around 2003 their paths had crossed again. Jon mumbled something about her being in a relationship with her dolls in 2001, because at the time Bon Jovi was being formed she had the impressive age of three, but didn’t stop scrolling for more details.

He had been wrong. He didn’t know what Angela Novak was doing in the original circle - was she even existing? Although this circle didn’t truly function as he had thought they did, it would be a little bit too much to come up with new persons out of the blue. He couldn’t influence unknown peoples’ lives to such a degree so he better remember her name and stay the hell out of her way when he returned - but in this one she was a big name in Hollywood. The new star in the industry. America’s sweetheart. OK, that was technically incorrect. First, she was Canadian - with Eastern-European roots probably so loose that they only gave her an exotic name and nothing else - and second, as Imdb stated, she was not really into rom com movies. So not really the definition of America’s sweetheart. Either way, he could not understand how the hell he had started a relationship with her. A fling, a short affair, a one night stand, something intense and meaningless he could not totally exclude. She was beautiful and he was single. But marriage?

What had she done to make him forget that Hollywood life was not for him? As his eyes were unconsciously gliding over her partially exposed lean legs, he realized she hadn’t needed to do anything. Just because their first years as a band looked similar didn’t mean they had been exactly the same. A minor change around 85 and he hadn’t developed an aversion towards starlets and their glamorous lifestyle. It was as simple as that.

“Fucking butterfly effect”, he murmured and resumed his research. He imagined there had to be a lot of information about them in the media, given the fact they were both famous people, but again he had rapidly concluded that secrecy sucked big time. He couldn’t even find a picture from their wedding. ‘Private ceremony in Italy’. That was all that was mentioned about that event. What the hell were those paparazzi doing in this universe? Sleeping?

There were a lot of pictures from public events, award shows and such, but other than that their relationship was rather discreet. Jon looked at this version of him holding Angela’s hand on a red carpet and wondered if they were truly as happy as they seemed. He wasn’t able to get past their age difference - 18 fucking years, which meant she was not really as young as she seemed, yet she was a lot younger than him - but he could half-hearteadly admit that they did look good together. And if it was not all an act, the idiot seemed to be head over heels for her. Adoring glances, a protective arm thrown over her shoulders or around her waist, his hand proudly enclosing hers, all those small details depicted a man who simply loved his wife.

And then his eyes were drawn to a picture that at first didn’t make any sense, but nevertheless had the power to send his mind in a spin. Angela holding a little girl in her arms, trying to protect the child’s face from the paparazzi - so not all of them were sleeping after all - and him looking disgruntled to the camera with a hand raised into a stop gesture.

He really needed to quit assuming things and learn how to check the reality faster and better. He had seen Jesse, Jake and Stephanie stated as his kids’ names and he had rushed to grieve the absence of Romeo without realizing that from a mathematical point of view his youngest son could not be the only missing one. With the divorce happening around 2000, the only thing this Jake could have in common with the real one was the name. And so it was. From all the three kids, only Jesse could be considered as being the same as his real counterpart and that only if him being the eldest could be ignored. This is how his family had turned out to be around here. Jesse was born in 1995 on the exact date he had been born in the original circle, followed two years later by Jake who, based on some pictures Jon found, looked a lot like his Jake but it could fairly be assumed that he was a completely new person.

As for his daughter, his little princess no matter how old she was, Jon had to admit this circle had outdone itself, cos his little princess was indeed little here.

“I have a five year old”, he whispered, contradictory thoughts stirring in his mind. He was as outraged by having a kid of that age as much as he was curious to find out more about her. The pain caused by the absence of his kids as he knew them was still there, constantly drilling his soul, yet it receded enough to allow a new sensation to spring somewhere deep inside him.

“Hey”, Angela’s voice brought him back to reality and he instinctively flipped his phone with the screen away from curious eyes.

“Hey”, he responded and looked at the woman, for the first time acknowledging her for who she really was. His wife and the mother of his daughter.

“Sorry for the long call. I really needed to fix some things”, she said and took a seat opposite him, fastening her seat belt. They were going to land soon.

“Don’t worry”, he whispered, discreetly eyeing her. He could not hate her anymore. He wanted to, but the despise he had previously felt, was no longer there. He didn’t have it in him, he could not hate a woman who had borne his child. He was far from even remotely liking her, but he was done imagining ways to destroy her.

“I’m so sorry I missed the show…and the night in Milan”, she smiled with a naughty twinkle in her eyes, “but I didn’t have the heart to leave a feverish Stephy alone with my mother”.

Jon swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. “Is she better?”, he asked, feeling like a douche because he had kept this Jon from checking on his family. His kids, no matter their versions, shouldn’t suffer. And they shouldn’t have been away from both their parents either. He didn’t much like their parenting style, but again he didn’t like a lot of things in this universe.

“Yeah. She was all up and running when I left. I kinda had to let her know our plans for this weekend to calm her down”, Angela giggled, “but she will surely drive my mother nuts this weekend”.

Jon was not curious about their plans and why they held the power to calm a 5 year old girl. He was too shaken up by what that circle was putting him through. In the last few hours he had been through so many states, opposite ones included, that he felt he was one small step away from being categorized as bipolar.


	20. Chapter 20

He was still confused by that unexpected change of heart when they reached the hotel. Angela rushed to take a shower as soon as they hit their room and he poured himself a glass of whiskey, mostly inhaling its aroma rather than drinking the liquid, before he collapsed on the bed. No matter the circle, three hours of singing and jumping around on a stage were exhausting and, now that the adrenaline was gone, he started to feel the fatigue taking over him. He closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t know what to do, what to think, or what to feel anymore. He simply didn’t.

“You sleeping?” an amused question and a hot breath tickled his right ear, ripping him out of a sleep he didn’t know when he had slipped into. He opened his eyes, and in the semi darkness of the room, he saw Angela above him, her dark hair now caught in a messy bun and her green eyes sparkling with a hint of naughtiness.

Before he could completely withdraw his mind from the far places of that dreamless and sudden sleep, her lips lightly brushed his in a soft kiss, so different from their first one. The first one he could remember. Her body pressed against his as she deepened the kiss, her tongue gently but surely claiming his mouth. Her fresh scent invaded his nostrils and this time he did more than let her have his way with him. This time he kissed her back.

It was wrong. It had to be wrong. Did that count as cheating? She was his wife after all. It wasn’t right either. If she had been a total stranger he wouldn’t have had qualms of conscience stinging him. Just a nameless woman in a nameless place. She would not be the first and probably not the last. The problem was she was not nameless. She was not a stranger. He didn’t know her, but she wasn’t a stranger. The same could not be said for her. She thought she knew him whilst, from the two of them, he was indeed the foreign one. She didn’t want to kiss him, she wanted to kiss her husband. This Jon. In this fucked up trio he was the impostor. It was wrong. It felt wrong.

Angela moaned into the kiss, pressing even harder against his body and his hands started roaming her back, lower and lower until they reached her ass. They didn’t care about right or wrong. They only cared that underneath their fingertips there was a willing hot naked body.

“Missed me?”, she teased him when she finally broke the kiss.

Instead of a response, he pulled her closer for another one. He couldn’t explain his sudden interest in her. Maybe it was just because he had woken up with all his male sexual instincts being assaulted. It could be an explanation. She smiled against his lips and moved a bit, enough to allow a hand to slip between them. His cock didn’t care either about existential dilemmas as it greedily twitched under her touch even through his jeans.

“I know we have all weekend…”, she velvety murmured and started planting light kisses along his cheekbone, “and we are both tired now…”, she moved to his neck as her hand was fumbling with the fastenings of his jeans, “but what do you say…”, she kissed a spot behind his ear that sent a shiver through his body before she put her lips against his ear, “if we start making this baby now?” As the last words were being said, she playfully bit his earlobe and her hand finally reached his aching dick, the simultaneous sensations drawing a hiss out of his mouth.

Just when he uninhibitedly pushed into her touch, her words reached his brain, gaining a meaning and his eyes flew open. “ _ A baby?! _ ” Is that what that weekend escapade was for? ‘Yeah, like you gonna see anything else except for the ceiling for two days’, Dave’s remark came into his mind perfectly describing his current situation. “ _ A baby?! _ ” Were they crazy? What baby?!

He put a hand on her wrist warding her arm off him and rolled her over from a brusque move. He jumped out of the bed and for a second Angela looked confusedly at him before her frowned eyebrows melted into an amused expression.

“Are you ok?”

“Sorry…”, he vaguely mumbled an apology then rushed to the bathroom, grabbing his phone on his way.

He locked the door behind him and leaned against it to catch his breath.

“I don’t care, man!” he quietly, but nonetheless furiously snarled at the ravished reflection in the mirror, pointing a scornful finger towards it. “I don’t care if we are or we are not the same person. You, dumbass, you are fucking Omega! Jonny minus infinite, that’s what you are. You’re 57, idiot! Fifty fucking seven! You should want grandchildren, not babies. Are you out of your mind?!”

He went to the sink and sprinkled cold water over his face then leaned his palms against the marble wash basin.

“ _ And if he’s Omega, what the hell are you, locking yourself in the bathroom of your hotel room, hiding from a harmless woman like she’s some kind of a serial killer? What letter do you deserve, huh? First you wanted to hurt her, then to fuck her, when all you had to do was to leave her alone! Not to mention you almost trade your kids for ten more minutes of success! Your kids! What does that make you?! _ ”

His eyes sparkled with self disgust and, when he couldn’t look himself in the mirror anymore, he laid on his back on the floor with his arms and legs slightly spread. The fancy tiles felt cold against his heated body and he vaguely wondered if he could catch a nasty cold from that. Give this Jon a bronchitis, or pneumonia, or anything that could give him a hard time on stage. It was useless anyway. The idiot had an army of people ready to protect him from himself.

God, he was tired. An emotional wreck. All he wished right now was to find his way back. He sighed and closed his eyes and in the sudden darkness behind his eyelids one thing remained lit. The rope. He almost gasped in surprise when he noticed it, but then he realized he hadn’t truly tried to leave from there until now. Going back and forth was a deliberate process, even with all his stumblings, he first needed to wish to move before standing and walking.

As he visualized the mostly empty rope, he understood what those deserted spaces were.There were no pictures there not because he had failed to transpose his memories into photos, but because his memories were from another life. The rope only showed viable moments from the current circle. Scattered photos which started their motion when he looked at them but stopped unexpectedly when his memories didn’t coincide with this reality. It was a stark image which gave him an even starker feeling. Where the hell was he supposed to go now? He and this Jon stopped having shared memories probably around 96, 97.

He opened his eyes and groped for his phone. He had put it on the edge of the bathtub and he almost knocked it with his hand before catching it and safely retrieving it from there. Pictures. Always at the distance of a few taps.The internet didn’t hold all the answers to his questions, but his phone might have. He had searched like a maniac for private info on the correct device but in the wrong place. Photos, messages, chats, emails, agendas, they could all give him a glimpse of how his life looked like behind the curtains. And he had foolishly ignored them.

Why he and Dot hadn’t stuck together would probably remain a mystery, but despite his grudge against this Jon, he could only hope he wasn’t a totally absent father or a horrible ex-husband. That would be too much, that would destroy what the hell was left of him. 

His fingers hovered over the screen, not exactly knowing what to choose first. In the end, he opted for WhatsApp. In real life he didn’t use it, so in this circle it was probably his favorite app for communication. Angela, Steve, a few names he didn’t know, a group called the Bongiovi boys, another called Family, another The Gang and one name that made him gasp and get up from the floor. He leaned against the bathtub and pulled his knees to his chest.

Richie. Why was he still a contact? Moreover, why was he still an active contact? As he tapped on his friend’s name he could feel his heart beating in his throat.

“Oh my God”, he barely whispered as he scrolled up through the delivered but never read messages. 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014. A lot of years, a lot of words sent into the ether.

_ January 2 _ _ nd _ _ 2014 _

_ So that’s that. I cracked. I called you today. I fucking called you today! I probably scared the shit out of your mum even if she says she kinda expected one of us to call eventually. Ava blocked most of the numbers and instructed your mum to charge the phone once in a while. Yeah…like that would allow us to reach you across death… _

Jon stared at the screen, sudden tears blurring his vision.

_ January 10 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ We gave it one more shot today, but we all knew it’s useless. This tour remains canceled. It’s fucking painful here, but on stage it’s even worse. I screamed, then David screamed, and before we knew it everybody was screaming at everybody. Poor Phil! He must consider us a gang of nutjobs. We probably are… _

_ January 10 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ You know, artists always say the only thing they could do right after a tragic event was to get up on stage. I used to say I’d do the same thing. It turns out I can’t. We can’t. I can’t imagine my life without touring, but I can’t imagine my life without you either…and none of us can imagine this band without you. All or none, right? Well, I guess this time it’s none… _

_ February 24 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ I’m an idiot, Rich. I’m the biggest idiot in the galaxy. Today I snapped at Angie…I can’t even remember why, but I made her cry. And she’s pregnant for fuck’s sake, I should be the rock for her not viceversa! I’m losing my mind…I drink too much, I sleep too much, I’m basically doing nothing useful, I don’t even feel… _

_ April 3 _ _ rd _ _ 2014 _

_ Hey, man! I just wanted to introduce someone to you… _

There was a blurred photo and Jon prayed to all Gods at once for that photo to still exist on the phone, or on some server, or on the cloud, or where the fuck that app had its archives. When the photo was finally displayed he was so surprised that he almost dropped his phone. In that picture, he was holding a newborn in his arms.

_ April 3 _ _ rd _ _ 2014 _

_ I took her into my arms and I swear my life changed 180 degrees. We named her Stephanie…And no, I didn’t force Angie to name our baby only after my wish. :) She said there was no other name for her…I guess she’s right…Uncle Richie… _

With tears threatening to roll down his face, Jon thought that that message alone was enough to describe his relationship with Richie. If he didn’t read anything else but those few lines, he would still be able to say that this Jon had tasted the hell when his friend had died. But unlike the Jons in other circles, he had been lucky enough to find salvation in a little girl. His little girl, his miracle. His Stephanie. 

Jon swiftly wiped his tears and continued his reading.

_ June 25 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ The record company is pushing us to make a new album. Assholes! Oh, shit…Mrs Sambora, if you by chance read this, I’m sorry! But I don’t have another word. That’s what they are! Assholes! Anyway I told them to go fuck themselves...What’s so hard to understand? It’s all or none! We can’t be all so it’s none! _

_ Sorry again, Mrs Sambora. _

_ July 11 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ …. _

_ September 19 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ Ha, ha! They are threatening us with a lawsuit! If they want war, I’ll give them war! _

Jon’s lips curled into a sad smile as he recognized the fighter in this version of him. He could not say he understood his causes - put an end to the band like that was a radical move, one that in a normal circle wouldn’t have been possible - but his way of waging a war felt familiar.

_ November 29 _ _ th _ _ 2014 _

_ Well fuck…it’s been a year…I still can’t believe it! There are still days when I wake up and I can’t wait to meet you and then I remember that’s not possible anymore and everything crumbles around me. I really don’t know how my life would have been without Stephy…Fuck…there are days when not even she can help me…No dreams to chase, what’s left to hope/ I found the tree, I have the rope…This morning I wake up with these lyrics in my mind…And these motherfuckers want an album!… _

Jon bit his hand to stop the scream that burned his chest. Those lyrics…Those lyrics existed here too. Even if they were only in his mind or in an unread message, they existed. And they were equally painful, if not worse…

_ April 3 _ _ rd _ _ 2015 _

Another photo that uncovered its content only after it was clicked. Ava holding little Steph in her arms, both girls smiling at the camera.

_ Our princesses. I never told you before but I kinda envied you when Ava was born. I love my boys from all my heart, but Steph…Steph is something else. Btw, Ava came with her boyfriend today. I swear I had a moment when I wanted to have a gun or something. Angie slapped me a few times during the party…she said I was being mean to him…well, maybe…and yes…the schmuck seems a nice guy, but I’ll keep an eye on him anyway…I know you’d have done the same… _

Jon pursed his lips, then clenched his teeth in an agonizing attempt to hold back his tears. He didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Because his Steph was not a little girl anymore? Because this Steph was? Because in real life Ava had never presented her boyfriend to him, but here it was self-evident that she would always count on him for everything? Because these guys still had a relationship even after death separated them whilst he and Richie had lost it despite being both alive?

_ July 11 _ _ th _ _ 2015 _

_ It’s not fair…It simply isn’t… _

_ November 29 _ _ th _ _ 2015 _

_ Well fuck…another year…I went to the cemetery with David today. We cried like two old babies. I thought I was the only one who couldn’t come to terms with…with this situation. I don’t know why I imagined they were doing better than me. They’ve lost a brother too. Sometimes I wonder how our lives would have been if Dave hadn’t stood up for you. Do you wanna know another secret? I have no clue what the fuck possessed me on that day that I said I don’t need you in the band…Anyway, Dave and I went home, we got drunk then we cried some more. Steph came in at some point, she saw us crying and started to cry also. Have you ever seen two completely wasted guys trying to soothe a toddler? Angie said that if she hadn’t known why we were like that she would have recorded us. I guess we put on some show… _

_ January 3 _ _ rd _ _ 2016 _

_ I have to show you something. Tico found it the other day and well…none of us remembers that day. Or night…I don’t know what the fuck we drank then, but our memories have been wiped out. _

There was a video and unlike the photos it took a while to be shown. A shaky camera was following a visible drunk Richie. Drunk, happy and young.

“ _ I’ll tell you something guys… _ ”

“ _ You already told us more than we can bear, take a break _ ”, Dave protested. Jon knew it was his voice but the recording didn’t show the keyboardist.

“ _ Shhh…It’s important! _ ”, Richie decreed standing from his chair and making an effort to maintain that vertical position.

“ _ Sure it… _ ”

“ _ Lema, let him talk already. He won’t shut up anyway! _ ”, Tico interfered.

“ _ Teek, my man! _ ”, Richie threw his closed fist into the air and the camera moved just in time to catch Tico rolling his eyes. “ _ Teek, I love you… _ ”, Richie stumbled on a coffee table but made it to his friend and caught him in a drunk bear hug.

“ _ Don’t make me regret it! _ ”, Tico hissed.

Richie stood on the arm of the sofa Tico was seated.

“ _ Listen, I’ve been thinking…”,  _ he started didactically _ , “If I die, I don’t want you to cry for me… _ ”

A second of silence then an amalgam of voices.

“ _ The fuck is wrong you? _ ”

“ _ Good job, Teek! You let him talk, he talked! _ ”

“ _ Great! I sobered up instantly…and now I’m depressed! _ ”

“ _ Guys, calm down! I’m not going anywhere for now! _ ”, Richie smiled, his dimples showing even from that bad and old recording. “ _ It’s my wish. I don’t want any of you to cry over me…Or write some soppy song. Did you hear me, Jonny? _ ”

The camera moved to show Jon, sitting petrified in an armchair. Richie plunged towards him, his hands resting on the sides of the armchair and his body dangerously hovering above Jon’s.

“ _ Promise me, Jonny! _ ”

Richie was not amused, he didn’t even seem drunk anymore, and that Jon looked horrified by the prospective his friend’s words had inflicted.

“ _ Promise me you’ll go on… _ ”

That Jon kept holding Richie’s eyes, but he was not able to say anything. It was clear that he, too, was drop dead drunk, but the idea of losing his friend was unbearable anyway. And he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t so.

“ _ I know you… _ ”, Richie whispered, “ _ that’s why you have to promise me now that you won’t grieve more than necessary… _ ”

“ _ We’ll throw a fucking orgy for you, is that okay with you? _ ”, Dave snarled and Richie turned his head a little towards him.

“ _ Perfect! _ ”, Richie said but then moved his attention back to Jon, their eyes locking again.

“ _ You’re an idiot… _ ”, Jon whispered.

“ _ Promise me… _ ”, Richie insisted.

“ _ I… _ ”

“ _ We can’t be all or none if you’re not going to be up on stage…Promise me… _ ”

“ _ Fine! Fine! _ ” Jon yelled exasperated. “ _ I promise! _ ”, he said, fighting with all his powers to keep his tears at bay.

“ _ Good _ ”, Richie grinned and gave him a quick kiss on his lips then evaporated from his reach.

Jon wiped out his mouth like he was disgusted by the gesture.

“ _ And now that the band will live, we can party! _ ”, Richie raised a bottle of an uncertain alcohol.

_ “Oh, yeah, we were in great danger, what can I say? _ ”, Dave continued to bitch. “ _ Did you forget how your ass got accepted into this band? _ ”

“ _ Davey, my brother _ ”, Richie smiled, not at all bothered by what the keyboardist implied, and threw an arm around his neck, “ _ do you want me to kiss you too to show you how much I love you? _ ”

Dave grimaced horrified and tried to escape Richie’s unexpectedly strong hold.

The video stopped abruptly leaving Jon in complete awe. A glimpse of this Jon’s past. A glimpse into their gang. A gang that totally acted like the one he knew. If drunk and happy, Richie would kiss anyone in his proximity. Just for the fun of it. 

Judging by their looks the video had to be filmed somewhere in the early 90s. A long time ago. Years before the accident. Years before a prophecy made in a state of heavy inebriation would come true. Was it possible for a tape like this to exist in the original circle too? And what would be Richie’s wish then? Jon sighed as he realized it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

_ January 4 _ _ th _ _ 2016 _

_ I’ve watched the cassette over twenty times. I still don’t remember a thing. And today we debated for four fucking hours if we should take this promise seriously or not. I was kind of mean to them. I told them they are ready to break our motto just because they miss the stage. I told them they would use any excuse to do that, even a promise made while drinking. They made me watch the tape again. They didn’t need to. I know you were serious. I’m just…I don’t know…I guess we’re making an album… _

_ February 12 _ _ th _ _ 2016 _

_ I know you said no soppy songs, but for fuck’s sake…There’s nothing else in me… _

_ Till I can find a way to make all tears wine/ Wine to blood and blood to life/ Till we meet where they stop time/ I’m here without you _

_ It haunts me… _

_ February 25 _ _ th _ _ 2016 _

_ Words cannot breathe life into once kissed lips…I recorded the song today. It will probably not make the album, just so we can stay true to a promise none of us truly remembers…Maybe it’s better this way…I can only hope I left all my depression in it… _

_ March 1 _ _ st _ _ 2016 _

_ We think we have a name for the album. This house is not for sale. I like it. _

_ March 14 _ _ th _ _ 2016 _

_ Dave came in today and showed us the part from the video where you flutter your fist at Tico. He said we should use that for the cover. I guess you gave us the idea… _

_ March 17 _ _ th _ _ 2016 _

Another photo that had to be loaded. Five fists arranged in an incomplete circle. In the upper part, the missing fist had been replaced by a star. Jon recognized the photo from the posters he had seen at the venues or around the cities. It made no sense then, it didn’t make much now. In a way it resembled the cover from ‘Keep the faith’ album. The original one. He didn’t know how that cover looked like here.

_ I know, I know. There’s no house. Come on, it would have been too obvious. WE are the house. And if you wonder why the fuck there are five fists and yours is missing…well…it looked better this way…Equilibrated! :))) But the truth is, whether he likes it or not, Phil is one of us now. I’m inclined to believe he’s not gonna like it for too long, but hey, if he agreed to come back after that bad first experience…It’s his problem! I don’t have to tell you’re the star, right? And I hope I don’t have to tell which one is my fist…A forever lasting fist bump… _

The phone started to ring and the acoustic of the room amplified the sound. It was a video call, Jon didn’t know the name, but in his hurry to silence the phone he accepted it. An elderly lady appeared on the screen but in the next second a pair of big green eyes and a mop of tousled brown hair seized it.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” the little girl squealed.

“Oh, fuck…”, Jon barely whispered and quickly wiped out his tears and ran a hand through his hair. He was so shaken by those messages and now this.

“Steph, you can’t enter the phone”, the woman said amusedly and brought the child to a decent distance from the phone. “Sorry, Jonny, I tried all the tricks I know but she just won’t sleep before talking to you.”

“That’s ok”, Jon assured her, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. Even if Angela hadn’t told him that the girl was with her mother, he would have guessed he was talking to her right now. The woman had the same green eyes as her daughter and her granddaughter had. “How’s my baby girl doing?”

“I…I…helped Nana today. We made cupcakes. I made them pretty. And then…”, the girl rushed to tell him all her busy schedule for that day, stuttering in excitement. “Then…we met Mickey in the park. We raced with our bikes and I won!”

Jon opened his mouth to say something, maybe to congratulate her, but the girl jumped from her grandma’s hold and disappeared from the sight although she kept talking excitedly. He had time to lock eyes with the woman for a second, before the storm that was the little girl came back, proudly presenting a semi-indiscernible drawing.

“I made a dinosaur”, she said and held the paper with both her hands shoving it into the camera. “It’s a velociraptor”, she informed him, perfectly pronouncing that complicated name. “It’s my favorite!” she said and roared, Jon assumed, like the said animal.

“I see you had a full day”, he smiled fondly. “Why don’t you go to sleep now and let Nana rest too?” he asked softly.

The girl nodded and grabbed the phone. Jon watched amusedly the shaky images his daughter’s running across the rooms provoked. He understood now why Angela had said the girl would drive her grandmother crazy. She seemed a ball of inexhaustible energy.

“Daddy, will you sing to me?” The girl asked while climbing in her bed.

“Sure. What do you want me to sing?”

“Our song”, Steph responded like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“ _ Oh, fuck!”  _ How the hell was he supposed to know what little girls liked nowadays? “Uhm…Ok…What do you say we both sing it? You start”, Jon said feeling a little guilty he was passing back the request to the child. But he had no idea what their song might be.

However, as soon as the little girl started to softly croon, he felt like a total idiot. A total and mushy idiot. If he wrote that song for his Steph, why wouldn’t this Jon write it for his daughter also? Tears sprang again in his eyes as he took over the singing.

“Sometimes I think that you're the only reason

The sun still shines...when it shines

And when this wicked world starts bringing me down

I tell myself that I'm one lucky guy”

The earlier read messages, his pain and this Jon’s pain, memories of his Steph and the image of this sleepy and yet still restless one, all combined and shuttered him. Never in all their existence those lyrics had been truer than now. Although written under very different circumstances, years and universes apart, they continued to express the unique love his daughter had brought into his life.

He had to move the phone away from his face a few times to wipe his tears. He didn’t want to shock the kid for life.

“I got the girl …with all the cards

I got the girl… she's a work of art

I got the girl …who's gonna break my heart”

“I’ll never break your heart, daddy”, the little girl said vehemently and Jon’s hand flew over his mouth a second too late. He had already sobbed out loud. Her innocent determination blended with his experience - his Stephanie was no longer a little girl, no matter how he still saw her - had the opposite effect to what the little girl wanted to have. She was sure she was never going to hurt him and yet, for no apparent reason, she was doing just that.

“No?” He muttered and wiped again those unstoppable and annoying tears.

“No”, she shook her head, convinced that she was right.

It took Jon all his power to carry on with the song.

“She likes to wear her stripe with her plaids

And she won't brush her hair, I swear…”

“Daddy, the song is not like that”, Steph scolded him amusedly.

Jon frowned a little before he realized the song couldn’t be identical. The girls were two distinct persons after all, each one with her own particularities.

“Forgive daddy, baby girl. He sometimes…forgets….Why don’t you remind me how it goes?”, he managed to say.

The girl didn’t need to be told twice and she happily sang the correct lyrics.

“She says she’s April bird but doesn’t like to fly

In her pyjamas all day with mommy’s shoes she walks so high”

Jon smiled hearing this Stephanie’s quirks, different from what he knew, but nevertheless adorable.

“I don’t say April bird anymore, daddy. I know it’s tu...third”, she stuttered making Jon burst into laughter and tears at the same time. She could easily pronounce that dinosaur name, but her birthday date gave her a hard time. She really was something else.

“Close your eyes, baby girl”, he whispered. When the girl complied, he resumed his singing in a shushed voice.

A sudden warmth spread in his chest as he saw her so peacefully lying in the bed, with her messy brown hair over her face, softly breathing her way to sleep. His heart filled with a love he didn’t know he had still room for, overwhelming him despite any logical reason. He had found out about this Steph’s existence only a few hours ago, how was it possible to feel something for her? She was a stranger.

“Daddy?”, she whispered through her sleep, “can I name my baby brother?”

“Sure”, he answered, not exactly knowing why she was so sure she’d have a baby brother. Maybe she just wished for one. Either way, he suddenly felt the desire to melt into that screen and materialize into her room. She might be a stranger, but she was a stranger who innocently called him ‘Daddy’ and he wanted so bad to touch her, to hug her, kiss her hair at least once. Feel that flesh that was and wasn’t his at the same time. But it wasn’t possible.

“But the queen of hearts will always be

A five-year-old princess to me”

He barely whispered those last lines. He would never see her grow, he would never be there for her to hold her hand, or kiss a hurt a knee, he would never ever again sing that song to her, or any other one, he would never take her to school, or approve her prom dress, he would never see her making her way into her life, he would never see her leaving his house. He would never see her again.

She would always be a five year old he once saw in a video call, his daughter and not his daughter, a piece of him and not of him at the same time. A meteoric appearance who blossomed into his soul and etched those big green eyes on his heart.

“Daddy loves you very, very much, little girl. Whatever foolish thing you’ll do in your life, and believe me you’ll do a bunch, I’ll never stop loving you”, Jon assured the sleeping girl between ragged breaths. It was the only thing he could do for her.

He ended the call with a heavy heart and collapsed on the floor, squeezing the phone so hard his fingers hurt. Like he wanted to tear it into fine dust, particles so small they would penetrate his skin so he could forever have bits of photos of this Steph, this Jake, this Jesse. Kids he would never know, but he would always love and miss even so.

When he eventually got up, he gave one more look to the reflection in the mirror. He looked tortured. They looked tortured. They had been through hell and they had come back and all because they had had the right people at the right time near them. He had judged this Jon so hard, he had considered him the biggest idiot in the galaxy and for what? Because he accepted his friends’ help, because he had a younger wife who wanted another kid, because he had blindly respected his dead friend’s wish? Because he had put others’ wishes above his? The man was just trying to do his best. Just like he was. They were not the same, but they were not that different either. One had managed to save a relationship, the other a different one. Who was to say who did better? 

“I think you’re me more than I’m you…”

He went back to the bedroom and after he put a pair of comfy pants on him, he slipped next to sleeping and still naked Angela.

“What took you so long?” she mumbled through her sleep and idly turned to him, resting her head on his shoulder and putting an arm across his chest.

“Sorry”, he whispered, “your mom called. Steph didn’t want to sleep.”

“I warned her…”, Angela giggled softly.

“Just so you know, Steph wants a baby brother.”

“That’s your job, not mine”, the woman said and hugged him tighter. “If we’re lucky this weekend, we’ll name him Romeo. We are in Verona after all…”

“You’ll have to fight your daughter for that name”, Jon said feeling a little bit taken aback by her choice. “She wants to name him”.

“Ah, she will name him after you. You are her biggest hero…”

Jon wanted to tell her that that would change soon but didn’t have the heart to even joke about it.

“Romeo Jon…I like it”, Angela sleepily smiled and Jon let out a small astonished huff. A boy who was yet to be born already had the name that would rightfully complete this Jon’s family. If he, by some accident, visited this circle again next year, Wiki would display all the correct names and he would not have a melt down. Not so quickly anyway.

“Maybe we should conceive him first”, he said and kissed her hair. Angela sighed, already asleep, and he closed his eyes bringing the rope into the light. It was time to go home. The key to jump from one circle to another was to alter something from his past. But what if his alteration was something that he had already tried? That had to bring him to a known circle. Even to the original one.

He saw young Jon hurrying to the rehearsal. He heard the music through his ears and saw the guys through his eyes. And when young Jon was about to say ‘Ok, you’re in’, he let him. He saw the smile on Richie's face and he felt the excitement in the others. “See you in thirty six years”, he whispered and let himself slip back into the present.

He had been scared by the perspective of suddenly gaining conscience in the present when he was awake. He had thought it would be scary as fuck to see the decor slowly changing around him. But it was not like that. It was like coming out from a zoned out moment. It was no different from waking up. There was nothing balefully in how everything materialized around him.

However, he could not say the same about what he was doing. His hand was full of pills. His mouth was full too. He spitted them out and threw the ones in his hand like they were some radioactive waste and rushed to the bathroom. He shoved his fingers down his throat and threw up a couple of times to make sure his stomach didn’t hold any of those potentially lethal pills.

When the adrenaline toned down, he started trembling realizing how close to a disaster he had been again. The metallic tingling exploded in his body and he didn’t need to check any site to know he hadn’t made it to the original circle. And that meant his theory about how they functioned was very, very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Everybody hoped Jon would finally find a nice circle. It was not the time yet. :)


	21. Chapter 21

_ “It makes no sense”. _ That was the only thing that spun in his head. It made no fucking sense. Along with the fact he could have slipped into this body a few minutes later, when he was already zoned out with no prospect of ever waking up, made the inner tremor impossible to stop. Two more minutes on the phone, pull himself together a minute later after he had ended the call, stall his return to the bedroom a little bit, or just spend a little more time in the past. He could have done any of them and he would have slipped into unconsciousness, by morning the UTS probably displaying only a big Game Over. It was a fucking scary thought.

Where had his logic gone wrong? If he didn’t change anything, if he let the circle follow its natural course, he should be back. It seemed obvious. And he didn’t alter anything. Why the hell wasn’t he back?

He closed his eyes and tried again. The music, ‘Ok, you’re in’, the smiles. Nothing else. No other whisper, not another word. Not a chance for that unpredictable butterfly effect to mess up everything. Yet when his vision cleared enough, he found himself standing on the same bathroom floor, still rattled, still trembling. That was a first. He could have changed the city at least, like he had done on his first attempts. Why was he still there? This couldn’t be his present. Denbora had said that circle was safe. This one didn’t look safe at all. Had she lied to him? Had something unforeseen happened whilst he had been gone, something that bad that had driven him to the point where suicide looked like the only option?

He slowly got up, but nausea hit him as soon as he reached a vague vertical position. “ _ Alcohol and pills…”,  _ he acknowledged. “ _ I’m not playing games, huh? I really want to end it all…”.  _ He was kind of surprised that he didn’t feel the need to shake this Jon into his senses, that he didn’t feel outraged by his condition and by his choices. He didn’t approve them, not at all, but he was not capable of giving a lecture to anyone. Not even to himself.

He scrunched down near the toilet and he didn’t need to force himself too much to throw up again. Maybe it would be wise to call a doctor, tell someone what he did, announce at least one person that he was not alright. Just because he was awake now didn’t mean he would be so in an hour or two. He was sure there was no trace of poison in his stomach, but he could not say the same about the rest of his body. God knew what and how much he had ingested. But that idea, with a high potential to be a rescuing one, didn’t transpose into action.

He made another attempt to get up, holding to the edge of the sink this time. His hand visibly trembled as he reached for the faucet and he barely managed to take a sip of water to rinse his mouth. He leaned with his forearms against the sink, his head resting on his folded hands for a while. Like he was praying. For mercy, for help, for strength. For oblivion. But he didn’t appeal to any divinity. In his current situation it felt ridiculous anyway. He just sighed and took a deep breath before he straightened his back and looked himself in the mirror.

And he had thought he was in a bad shape in the previous circle. With all the crying and all the sorrow he had endured in the last few hours and he had totally looked straight out of a magazine cover compared to what he was seeing now. There was no hint of life in this reflection. Pale skin, haggard face, and big dark circles under a pair of empty eyes.

“Fuck…”, he muttered. Why the hell did he need pills and booze? He was already dead.

When he finally brought himself to leave the bathroom, he paced the apartment room by room as if he was inspecting the scene of a crime. In a way that’s what that place really was. It was just a matter of luck that the crime had been millimetrically avoided.

The apartment was quite neat, nothing torn or broken. His guitar was carefully seated on the couch and an empty glass was placed on a small coffee table nearby. Only the bedroom held the traces of an interrupted disaster. The pills he had spat and thrown away were scattered all over the bed, the empty container resting on a pillow. Jon looked for another one but fortunately he didn’t find any more. An empty overturned bottle of whiskey was lying on the floor and his phone was half covered by a blanket.

He took it and searched for the usual information. He was indeed back to Richie being dead since 2014, although on a slightly different date, to ‘Here without you’ and ‘Stranger’ being played on every concert, to that chaotic tour schedule. He was not divorced, all his kids had the correct ages. And he was again in a circle where Richie had never left the band.

“ _ It makes no fucking sense _ ”, he thought again as he absently glanced around the room. The alcohol running through his system made him feel like he was trying to move and see through a sludgy liquid. Like everything was happening in slow motion. His mind was alert, as much as it could be after all that had happened, but this Jon’s mind wasn’t, and apparently it had a word to say in controlling this body.

He slowly bent and took the bottle from the floor, placing it on the nightstand.

“What am I reenacting here?”, he wondered as he gingerly sat on the bed. He had gotten rid of a batch of pills, he had already imagined he could use them unwisely and yet it felt strange to have actually done it, a planned, deliberate act. He let himself fall on his back and waited for a few seconds for the installed dizziness to fade away. He closed his eyes and once again let his counciusness settle in his hasty younger version.

“Ok, you’re in”, he said loud enough for everybody to hear but then he planted himself in front of Richie. “Why that song?”, he asked curiously, his words almost whispered.

“Huh?”, Richie slightly frowned.

“Why ‘Shooting Star’? It ends badly…’Bottle of whiskey, sleeping tablets by his head’ “, Jon recited the lyrics, what he remembered from them anyway. It had been a while since the last time he had heard that song. “So why?”, he bored his eyes into Richie’s. He didn’t believe the other man had some weird power of future telling, although given the last circle, one could easily attribute that to him. He didn’t believe there was some sort of predestination in the song that Richie had a habit of playing whenever Jon made an appearance in a bar. After all, success followed by a more or less accidental death provoked by alcohol and pills was pretty common among celebrities.

Jon wasn’t sure what he wanted to obtain from that question, if he wanted something. Maybe he just needed to talk to Richie, a meaningless question voiced foolishly that led to a few hours of debate, like they used to do when they were young. Maybe he just needed that.

“It’s a long way ‘till the end”, Richie shrugged innocently with that infectious smile still on his lips.

“Just a blink of an eye”, Jon said after a few seconds, his voice again barely a whisper. His trips back to his past had been short when sentient, so this was the first time when he allowed himself to see. Just see. Those kind brown eyes, that yet unaltered youthful skin, those full lips that could curl into the most heartwarming smile, that cloud of dark hair, all those things that would soon transform into a painful memory.

Richie started to feel uncomfortable under Jon’s gaze - it would take some time before they would become so familiar and relaxed around each other - but didn’t try to hide from him in any way.

“Let’s get to the success part first”, the guitarist laughed a little bit nervously and Jon could not help a bitter, yet fond smile. “And try not to be shooting stars”, Richie continued as he unawarely fiddled with the strap of the guitar.

“We won’t. But the ending might just be the same…”

“What?”, Richie furrowed his eyebrows, not sure of what Jon was trying to say.

“Nothing…”, he shook his head and smiled again, the same mix of bitterness and fondness on his lips. “Just…stay away from cars”. Jon knew that was pointless. Sure, he could tell Richie the exact date when he would die, the exact way, and in the next few years the guitarist would keep asking him how the hell did he know that and he won’t have any answer. And when eventually they would have forgotten about that, the accident would happen and that would be an inaccessible circle because that Jon would be dead from the second he realized he could have saved his friend.

“What cars?”, Richie asked candidly.

“Stationary ones”, Jon answered in a breath and after a moment of perplexity the brunette started to laugh.

“You have a twisted sense of humor.”

“It won’t last long…”, Jon’s voice came as a whisper again. Prophetic and sorrowful.

Richie moved closer to him, inspecting him intriguingly, eyes locked once more.

“Too bad. I like it…”

Despite knowing him for so many years, Jon didn’t know how to respond to that mix of boldness, coquetry and sincerity. Not quickly enough anyway.

“Guys, are we gonna play some or not?”, Dave shouted, interrupting them.

“Yeah”, Jon said and turned his back to Richie, biting his lips as he did so. One step, two steps and he let himself slip back into the present hoping the decor would be different. Just a circle where the pain he was feeling was still bearable. Or just a different hotel room. One in which he was not lying between scattered pills preferably.

But nothing changed. It was the same room and he didn’t have enough force to feel angry or too shocked.

“ _ Why still here? _ ”, he wondered, his half opened eyes slowly losing their focus. He raised his left hand and looked at the UTS, that simple action requiring a considerable effort. The tiny circles were in a new configuration, not that different from what he remembered but new nonetheless. He kept looking at them until the reason behind that shift finally dawned on him.

“This is the last one”, he murmured and the metallic explosion in his body kicked him out of his lethargy. “There is no other circle where I’m alive”. That thought made him want to throw up again, but when he stood at the edge of the bed the sensation disappeared so he just remained there completely struck by that realization.

Just like the rope showed only viable memories, the UTS showed only viable circles. Circles where there was a living available body he could take over. And for this scenario - where Richie had been accepted in the band, where he never left, but died somewhere in 2014 - this was the last one. That’s why the configuration changed without him doing anything special. It was simple. No more breathing Jon, no more displayed circle.

It felt rather exaggerated for that to be the reason behind his returning to the same hotel room, there had to be a lot of variations for that scenario and it would be a cruel joke for him to end dead in all, and yet, it was the only one that fit. He felt like he was on a race against time - oh, the irony in that - as his circle hopping suddenly became a quest not only to save Richie but to save himself too, and Jon thought that that should have made him feel outraged or plain scared, he should have been ready to put up a fight against that unjust fate. But he seemed to be too tired for that. All he wanted to do was to curl on his side and sleep, and without being totally aware of what he was doing he did just that, his eyelids slowly falling closed as he laid back on the bed.

“ _ No! Sleep is dangerous! _ ”, a tiny voice in his head screamed loud enough to wake him up again from that lethargy that threatened to take total control over him. He didn’t open his eyes, though. There was a silent yet acerbic battle inside him, on one corner his lucid mind that understood the gravity of the situation and on the other side that part of him who had simply laid down all its weapons. Ironically, the latter was winning. He sighed and let himself slip back to his past once more and just watched, tormented by a single, simple question that sheltered a bunch of unknowns. “ _ Why? _ ” 

Why did Richie never leave in these circles he was accessing? And why was it impossible for him to go back to a circle where Richie was not in the band anymore? Why wasn’t he back in the circle where he had met Denbora and Zaman? Richie was dead there too and that Jon had to be alive. He had left him well guarded by Tico and Matt and maybe even in a better state of mind. Another attempt on taking his life was not excluded but one so soon didn’t seem likely. That Jon had to be still confused and that was enough to keep his mind away from dark thoughts. David probably continued to tease him about cheeky and talented blue haired Denbora and that poor version of him was sure he had never heard that name in his life.

Those were good, almost technical “whys” and he would totally liked to have the answers, but right now he was interested in a more existential one. Why was his fate so tangled with Richie’s? Why did it seem that Richie’s death had the power to almost inevitably draw his own death? It was ridiculous. He had so many reasons to live, there were plenty of people who not only would miss him, but be devastated by his gesture. Why couldn’t this Jon, the last one standing, see that? Why didn’t he care about his loved ones? Why if Richie died prematurely he had to follow? Jon never liked to follow anyone, never saw himself as being dependent on anyone, even on Richie. He should be revolted by that idea and yet he could not feel entirely so. 

Slipping back in time to the rehearsal room at that fateful audition, Jon leaned against a wall, his attention entirely cast on the guitarist. He wasn’t even hearing the whole band. He was watching Richie’s fingers smoothly moving up and down the neck of the guitar and only the sounds provoked by those strings made it to his brain, mixed with the image of those dear and funny grimaces Richie always did when he was engrossed in his playing. The brunette sensed he was being watched intently and flashed a small, almost shy smile towards his observer, breaking for a split second his trance, and Jon smiled back involuntarily. “ _ What is it about you? What do you have? _ ” Jon knew that that past moment didn’t hold the answer to those questions. There were 30 years of moments that would finally lead to an untimely end for both of them and the answer must be in more than one.

“So?”, Alec asked him and he could not tell when they had stopped playing.

He could say ‘no’ again and maybe try to be more firm this time, cut them any chance to coalesce against him once again, but he was not up for new experiments. Not now. He really felt exhausted.

“You’re in’, he said, for the first time being totally aware of all the implications those words held. Richie was in the band, in his mind, in his heart. He was everywhere.

He finally opened his eyes and groped for his phone. It occurred to him that if his attempt had been intentional, he must have left some notes, some explanations for his loved ones. He couldn’t be so lost in his own misery to not give them at least that. They deserved it.

His call history indicated that he had talked to Dot earlier that day. Had he told her anything that could have alarmed her? Or had it been an ordinary conversation? Had he said goodbye to her in any way or had he just let her believe that everything was alright? Jon didn’t know which of those options was actually worse. He knew what kind of despair Richie’s disappearance - may it be deliberate and symbolic, or accidental and absolute - could bring upon him, but he could not totally understand how come he hadn’t found an exit from that darkness. It was so not him to not find a solution. Wasn’t it?

He made an effort and got up from the bed, heading to the living room, to the couch where his guitar, the only mute and powerless witness of his struggle, was resting. His eyes darted from her to the nearby bin where a notebook had been thrown. He took it and browsed through its pages. Almost all were blank except for a couple who had some lines written, but it was nothing notable. Just a few, rather dull, lyrics with no hidden meaning.

And then his eyes were drawn to the coffee table where the empty glass was placed over a sheet of paper. From underneath the small, wet circle that was the impression of the glass, four words in his handwriting stood out and cut him deeper than he ever thought it could be possible. Four words, both a justification and an apology, that made him relive this Jon’s last five years, all his struggles, all his won and lost battles. Four words that explained everything. ‘ _ I tried. I can’t. _ ’

Jon swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, the air that eventually screamed to leave his lungs, burning its way out. He should be furious at himself. He knew fury was a normal response to that poor excuse - ‘for fuck’s sake, you hadn’t tried hard enough’ a part of him wanted to shout - yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Because another part of him understood this Jon was lost in a darkness no sane man could entirely grasp. Reasoning didn’t work on this Jon anymore. It simply didn’t. It was like trying to cure a schizophrenic only by explaining again and again that what he perceived was not real.

That little note threw him into a new level of heartbreak and Jon felt his eyes burning like he was about to burst into tears, yet his eyes remained dry, fixed on those painfully simple words.  _ ‘I tried. I can’t. _ ’ And he believed him.

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

He spent the rest of the night, luckily no more than three hours after all that Italian adventure in the previous circle, sprawled on the bed with his eyes closed or aimlessly fixed on the ceiling, constantly venturing between past and present whilst rolling a pill between his fingers. Daring fate.

At one point, being too far gone into his little trips and this Jon too much of a wreck, he had even dropped the tablet. Or maybe he had finally swallowed it. He didn’t know what exactly had happened and he didn’t really care anyway. He wasn’t terrified when he realized he didn’t have it in his hand anymore. He wasn’t relieved or happy either. The emptiness of his hand didn’t spark any kind of emotion in him, so he just groped for another pill to replace the lost one and he resumed his game, playing with death like nothing had happened.

When slipping back to that audition started to feel jaded, he settled for inspecting this circle’s memories. The last six years were nothing but an empty rope, nothing truly unexpected in that, but the fact that that last night of the US leg, his recursive nightmare for years, was not part of this universe startled him a little. If he had been in a better state, maybe he would have been angry. That short moment in time represented the start of his awful journey, after all. It would have made much sense to be the end too, but at this moment, that memory was an inaccessible one and he just accepted that.

Going to the past and leaving it unaltered didn’t seem to function as he expected anyway, so it probably didn’t even matter if he went 30, or 20, or 6 years back. His last real dialogue with Richie before the split was important only to him, the UTS didn’t give a shit about it. Mathematics and physics didn’t care for the little details or moments people clung to. The laws of the universe could probably distinguish Tokyo from Madrid, but the difference between Lubbock and any other US city where they might have ended the leg of this circle’s 2013 tour was too insignificant for them to count. Red t-shirt, green t-shirt. Shame shit!

So no, he wasn’t outraged by the absence of that memory. It was how the circles functioned and whining about it didn’t win him anything. However, he soon started to feel frustrated when he realized he could go to whatever moment from his past, witness undisturbed its unfolding through time, until a little voice surfaced from some obscure part of his brain, alerting him to the fact that that was not how the things had happened. Sometimes he was not even sure, the little voice formulating more of a question than a statement, but either way the result was the same. The images disappeared, leaving only a black void before his mind’s eyes.

Trying to see those memories after that little voice doubted their authenticity felt a lot like trying to catch a snowflake in your palm. He could see them coming, he could feel their light touch, but when he concentrated on discovering their form, on deciphering all their secrets, the images disappeared just like a melting snowflakes on warm skin, leaving him with only a vague taste of what it could have been.

“Fuck…”, he muttered. He would never be able to overwrite or even silence his memories for enough time so the rope could show him how his life had been. “I’m forever stuck with what I know…”, he sighed while he unconsciously intensified the rolling of the pill between his fingers. How the hell could other people just remember something they had never lived? And why the hell was he unable to do the same?

Those were not the questions he should dwell on, he knew that. The situation was how it was and it became clear there was nothing he could do to change it. He couldn’t remember shit so he had to come up with some trickery to overcome that deficiency. Maybe if he was lucky enough - he didn’t count too much on that, though - the blank spaces on the rope, that black void that seemed to sooner or later engulf everything he had lived, could give him some information. Something not happening in a certain way might prove useful at some point.

But what was still a mystery and one truly worthy of investigating was why allowing the past to run its original course hadn’t brought him back. He had this strange feeling that he somehow knew the answer and yet he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly. His judgment was slowed by the still present traces of alcohol in his blood and by the accumulated fatigue.

“ _Coffee…_ ”, he thought and slowly got up. He didn’t check the time, the outside light had bashfully taken over the room for a while now so it had to be a decent hour for an early breakfast. He exited the apartment, leaving behind his phone, lost between sheets and pills, the only palpable evidence of an ongoing tragedy. Breadcrumbs for a saviour who might never come.

He could not say for how long he had stayed at that table in the breakfast area of the hotel, what he had eaten or if he had liked the food or not. Tico, Hugh and Phil appeared at some point and they were currently chatting on a topic he hadn’t even tried to catch. He had left aside the “act normal’ approach. There was nothing normal in what was happening to him.

“Jon!”, Tico fluttered an arm before his eyes. “Earth to Jon!”

“Hmmm?…”, he mumbled unconvincingly like he had just been woken up. Giving the situation, it was not even that far from the truth.

“Dan asked you something”, the drummer said and pointed with his chin to a man seated across the table. Jon couldn’t tell when that guy had joined them and looked at him, frowning as if he was thinking of something, maybe at what answer to give, but the reality was his reaction was mostly instinctual. He had never seen that man in his life. And he had no idea what he had been asked, nor did he plan to find out.

“Where are we?” he asked instead, after a long moment of silence, so calm and serious that everybody stopped from what they were doing and eyed him perplexedly. He could not remember if he had checked the location or not. He knew he had seen the tour schedule, but if he had been aware of the current city and he forgot it, or if he never knew where he was, he could not say. Not much of a difference anyway. 

“Hell”, Dave’s grumpy voice answered that uncanny question and had the power to relax the suddenly charged atmosphere. For a few seconds, Jon had gotten the distinct feeling that everybody was tip toeing around him, just like they had been in the first circle he visited. 

With an uncensored and overly dramatic growl, the keyboardist let himself drop on the empty chair next to Jon and draw all the attention on him.

“Wow, you look exactly how I feel!”, Dave gave Jon a half pitiful, half amused look and before the singer could respond in any way, his friend took a mouthful of coffee from his cup. “Yuck! It’s cold!”, Dave pulled a face and pushed the mug in disgust.

Jon blinked a few times, downright stunned at him . 

“What happened this time?”, Hugh asked him.

“Jet lag!”, Dave spitted out, making anyone but Jon burst into laughter.

“What jet lag, dude? It was a 2 hours flight, we didn’t even change the time zone”, Hugh informed him, “and you slept on the plane”.

“Yeah...2 hours on a cramped chair, 0 hours on a king size bed”, David complained.

“Stop picking up young girls then”, an unimpressed Tico gave him the solution to his problem. Phil choked on his coffee and started coughing, while David looked slightly blunt daggers at the drummer who, thoroughly unperturbed, was chewing his toast. 

“Do you really think I’d be here, whining, if that was the case?”

Jon couldn’t take more of his friends’ cheerfully mocking, their joyful attitude felt tiresome, so he pushed his chair back and got up without saying a word. But his move was rapidly followed by a series of noises - pushed plates and glasses, last bites, last sips of coffee, moved chairs - as the guys all hurried to get up and start the day. 

“Uhm...Jon…”, the unknown man called him, “what about their request?”

Jon assumed the information the guy was trying to obtain from him was an important one, hence his persistence, but he simply didn’t have an answer for him. He didn’t care what was going on in this circle and given his short experience here, this Jon didn’t care either. Not anymore.

“Sure”, he barely agreed, God knew what to. Dan looked confused at him, that monosyllabic answer surely wasn’t satisfying, and opened his mouth to add something, but Jon just turned on his heels and walked away.

The coffee didn’t help him much, his brain was still a gooey and useless mass even after two big cups, and that annoying feeling, that he already had an explanation for his inability to go back, fruitlessly grew in intensity, frustrating him to no end.

He clearly needed a distraction, a break from that impossible riddle, so he decided to go on with his schedule for that day. Going back and sitting in his room seemed a stupid move at this time and maybe some administrative stuff and a rehearsal could clear his mind. 

This time there was no one around to help him and he had to face unknown people on his own. But there weren’t so many as in the previous circle and, since he didn’t really care what outcome his actions would have, most of his errands indeed became a soothing routine.   


By the time the soundcheck was about to start, he felt, if not better, at least awake. Shanks was nowhere to be seen again, a thing that surprised Jon a little because he had clearly seen him in some memories from this circle, but not enough to ask someone about the man.

If he had been able to bring himself to care even a tiny bit, maybe he would have found the situation ironically amusing. The circles seemed to be completely undecided about Shanks, much like the fans were. 

He glanced clockwise at his bandmates, from Phil on his right to Hugh on his far left, before returning to his mic, knowing this rehearsal didn’t hold any nice surprise for him. He knew he would sound bad, it was the only logical way. However he hadn’t expected to sound  _ that  _ bad.

In real life, he had had the time to become accustomed with his changing, and fading, voice. Now it was too sudden. Sure, the recovery in the previous circle had been equally sudden, but it was a different game to regain something than to lose it. Was he that bad in real life too? Did he find his own singing awful just because he had an unjust term of comparison? Was this Jon in a worse vocal state than he was? 

It was plausible and he would have liked to go for an affirmative answer, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

“ _ Why am I still doing this? _ ”, he wondered whilst clearly missing a note, the sound painfully echoing back to his ears. “ _ Why can’t I just stop? _ ” That was not a question for this Jon. Or not only. It was, firstly and mostly, addressed to himself.

It was never an easy thing to have an objective look at your own situation. When you’re in the middle of the storm you can't see shit, no matter how much you kid yourself you’re capable of having a clear view. But he had been thrown out of the tornado his life was - and ended up into a bigger, different one, but that was a whole other story - and he could see it now.

There was no logical explanation behind the painful experience he was putting himself through these days. It was surely not about money, or fame, or relevance. It was not even about proving to people that Richie had been a welcomed plus to the band, but not a necessary one for success. That he could write a fucking song by himself. It was not about keeping the band alive so Richie could have a place to come back to either. He was not circling the world because he couldn’t live without the roaring fans, without the concert induced adrenaline. And he hadn’t embarked on a world tour solely to make himself conveniently busy so he could keep his grim thoughts at bay. 

But those reasons were not false either, cos every one of them held some truth. Just not the whole of it. It was childish and Jon almost snorted out loud into the mic at the thought, but he had always imagined he would be the one to decide when to stop. Yes, he was awfully bad at identifying the right moment for a halt, but that hadn’t stopped him from believing his decision would be born out of will, not out of necessity. 

It was something soothing in the idea of having control over his life - and the band was a big part of his life - although he knew nothing was truly controllable in this world. And yet he couldn’t let Richie’s departure decide the end for him. And he couldn’t let his fucking uncooperating voice do that either. He simply couldn’t. Letting go didn’t scare him, and it didn’t seem particularly hard. But it angered him immensely, he felt like he was being wronged. By whom exactly he could not say. Fate maybe? 

This time, a chuckle left Jon’s lips and reverberated into the empty arena making the guys shoot questioning looks at him. Yet none of them said anything. 

No more than 24 hours ago, a mistake like one he had just made would have been promptly sanctioned. Just thinking of the merciless jokes his friends would have thrown at him made Jon feel like laughing for the first time since he had entered that circle. 

In the previous circle, the one he had criticized with all his might, a concert with him in that state would never have taken place. The guys would have stopped him in no time. Here it was not the case and Jon wished so badly for that stage to crack wide open and swallow him already. Put an end to all that circle, multi universe nonsense and to his misery.

The soundcheck was finally over and Jon hurried to the car that would take him back to the hotel, thinking they could have just as easily skipped the whole thing in the first place. There was no setting they could have done to make up for what they were primarily lacking; the desire to be up there. They didn’t have it. None of them. They were all pretending. It was so obvious that even those people stranded on the International Space Station could see it.

“Hey, Jon!”, Dave called him, stopping from his walk towards the car. 

“Hmmm?”, he turned rather reluctantly to him.

“Why did you change that line?”, the keyboardist asked him, genuinely curious.

“What line?”, Jon blinked, equally genuine, but utterly confused at him.

“You said ‘she’s got ecstasy eyes’. What happened to ‘mesmerizing’?

Jon would have continued with the confused blinking if his overly arched eyebrows had allowed him to do so.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”, Jon outburst taking David by surprise. As a matter a fact, he had surprised himself also. After all that apathy, the virulence of his anger seemed inexplicable. Unstoppable too. 

“That’s your only problem?! That I screwed up a word?!” They sounded like shit, there was no other way to put it, and he could not believe David found a minor changed word as being a problem. Mesmerizing, ecstasy, hydrochloric acid, it could have been anything. It was an insignificant detail from an almost forgotten song. 

“A word?!”, Jon continued screaming. “One that I actually said how it really is, not how you think it should be?”, the sardonic question flew needlessly out of his mouth.

David parted his lips to respond, but despite registering the hurt that overtook the confusion in his friend’s eyes, Jon could not stop himself and harshly cut the keyboardist off.

“That’s your only complaint after all this shitty circus we put out there? Really?! A word?! Who the fuck cares about a stupid line?! I don’t even know why that song is in the playlist! Who the fuck wants to hear it cos we sure don’t wanna play it!”

“I was just…”, Dave started to apologize for a mistake he wasn’t sure he had committed, looking so lost compared to the cocky guy that had burst into the restaurant in the morning.

Jon knew it wasn’t fair lashing out like that on his clueless friend. His fury didn’t have anything to do with the keyboardist's curiosity, which by all means wasn’t even curiosity. It was concern, and Jon was the only culpable one for the keyboardist’s inability to express it better. David didn’t care about a stupid line, he cared about him, and Jon couldn’t be more displeased with himself at that moment.

He had created this world where no one dared to abruptly step in when the situation was getting too messy. He was the one that kept everyone on their tiptoes around him, worried to death but incapable of doing something. He was, simply put, the only idiot.

“Fuck!”, Jon yelled, thoroughly frustrated at the realization, closing his fingers into tight fists. David looked at him for a few moments, his eyes suddenly darkened by the pain and the disappointment Jon’s unfair reaction inflicted on him, before turning and walking away without another added word.

“Fuck…”, he hissed again in Dave’s wake, shaking his head and letting out a long, embittered sigh. He remained in place for a few more moments, stunned by his own stupidity. When he finally resumed his walk towards the car, he felt like he had to fight for every taken step. He was exhausted physically and mentally, his brain on the brink of becoming a useless mushy mass again.

Just when he was about to enter the car, Stan, or Sam, or Bam, or what the hell the guy’s name was, planted on his side.

“Where are you going? The guy from the magazine is here waiting for you! Did you forget you agreed this morning to have the interview here?”

Jon frowned at him, much like he had done it in the morning, having no clue who exactly that man was and caring about what he was saying even less. 

“I’m not doing it”, the singer bluntly informed Dan and stepped into the car.

“But…”, Dan put a hand on the door and leaned halfway into the car in an attempt to stop Jon. “What am I supposed to tell him? You have to …”

“Are you deaf?!”, Jon looked daggers at him. “I said I’m not doing it!”, he yelled and slammed the door, Dan barely avoiding being smashed by the door.

Jon let his head loll against the leather headrest, trying to block any thought about what had just happened. He didn’t want to add David’s rejected helping hand to the already big pile of reasons for his misery. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

For a solitary magical moment he even managed to feel peaceful. Unfortunately - or not - that's all it took for that answer he had been looking since last night to pop in his head, literally out of the blue. 

“ _ We tend to act like little big bangs for you _ ”. Denbora’s words. The answer he knew he had but simply couldn’t find it. Only a few days had passed since their encounter, yet it felt like ages. Maybe it was normal to feel like that. They had met, after all, a couple of lives ago.

“Little big bangs...”, he hissed sarcastically, suddenly craving to strangle someone. Preferably a delicate pale neck that sustained a cute little head with a funky blue haircut. “You’re not little big bangs, you fucking intergallatic bitches! You’re the fucking great wall of China if anything! You block our way back! Did you write that down?!” He shouted furiously and looked up, truly feeling like a lab mouse. He wasn’t sure to whom he was addressing. He wasn’t sure if any pair of golden eyes were set on him at the moment. He didn’t know how they extracted their information from them. Did they just watch them? Did they question them after some time? And did it matter?

If they had the power to create a circle or not when they approached humans was debatable. What unfortunately they did have, was the power to block those circles for further returns. Their interventions were not predictable and clearly they were not reproducible. But they were important, something the mechanism behind the circles couldn’t ignore. So it ignored the whole circle instead. 

It was very likely that the Jon he had left with Matt and Tico as his vigilant bodyguards was still safe and sound, but that didn’t matter, as regardless of that Jon’s status, he couldn’t reach him anymore. Just like he couldn’t reach the original Jon, the one who had met Amser. 

“We can’t go back! Happy with this conclusion?”, he yelled and kicked the front chair with his legs. Fortunately, he was seated on the right side of the car so the seat that collected the hit was an empty one. Still, the driver winced at the kick and looked at Jon in the mirror, wondering if he should ask him what ‘back’ meant. The hotel or the arena? Seeing him in such rage, the driver decided to let him cool off for a few more minutes and continued with his driving.

Jon realized it was not about people not wanting to go back, or not finding their way, or simply settling for something else. Had they chosen their test subjects so badly that until now no one else had figured that out? And now that he had discovered that, wasn’t it time for one of them to appear, thank him for his participation and magically send him home?

For a second he hoped that was a possibility, but his optimism was quickly buried. Those little bastards had triggered something they couldn’t end. Something that had no end. It was ironic how a journey based on circles could not come full circle, but that was the reality. He was trapped. Truly, truly trapped.

“We can’t go back!”, he yelled once again in vain but he perceived exactly what those words meant only after a few moments, when his fury transformed into sheer despair. “I will never go back…”, he whispered and the despair morphed into numbness. 

_ Never. Be. Back. _

“Sir...do you still wanna go back to the hotel?”, the driver took heart and dared to ask, at the exact moment Jon was about to plunge into a dark mental abyss. The innocent question, a naive misunderstanding of his ramblings, came as a fateful reached hand to a drowning man, just in time to save him. 

“Yes”, Jon answered and for the first time in that circle he actually started to laugh.


	23. Chapter 23

By the time he reached the hotel, a strange calmness took over him. Knowing that going back was out of question proved to be unexpectedly liberating in the end. The pressure of finding his original circle was gone, so he could only channel all his energy on accessing a circle he liked. Not that he had much energy to spare, but at least now it wasn’t shattered between options.

Maybe his mind was finally accepting the world as it really was, or maybe he was relieved he didn’t have to feel guilty for choosing to stay in a better reality, but he wasn’t so appalled by the idea of never seeing his real loved ones again like he had been in the beginning. Or maybe he was just in shock. That was more plausible. He was in shock and he would have a fucking huge meltdown when he'd realize he had abandoned his family and friends without a fight. Even if the fight was a rigged one and he had never stood a chance of winning.

The door of his room slammed closed behind him and he went straight to the bedroom. His whole body felt like it was made out of lead and he could not wait to just lie on the bed for a few hours. Sleep. He really needed to sleep.

He took his phone out of his pocket, ignored all the notifications and the unread messages that gathered in the last hours and turned it off completely. He carelessly threw it on the bed that had been carefully arranged whilst he had been out. Jon also noticed that the bottle of pills had been rescued from the sheets and placed on the nightstand. He took it and lightly shook it, the muffled clink of the pills startling him. The maid had picked them up instead of discarding them along with the used sheets and he could not decide if her gesture was a nice one or a stupid one.

“So much for the breadcrumbs...”, he softly huffed and gave the container a spin in his hand then put it back, next to a black telephone. Before he could actually register what he was doing, he disconnected the device, the cable hanging useless in his hand under his slightly confused look for a few moments before he let it drop. 

Was he really thinking that that phone, which probably hadn't rung in years, could disturb him? Or was it just another display of unjustifiable rage from his part? 

“ _ Why would you leave breadcrumbs? You're gonna drive away any possible rescuer anyway... _ ”, he sighed and shivered inwardly, the hurt in David’s eyes too strong to be held in the back of his mind anymore. He lay on the bed, hoping sleep would engulf him as soon as his head touched the pillow. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't the case. He had probably reached that weird point where he was too exhausted to fall asleep, because he’d been tossing and turning in bed for more than an hour now and he hadn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep. And how could he, when everytime he closed his eyes that fucking rope appeared, showing him moments that he and this Jon had shared over time? 

What was even more annoying was that the moments that stood out were the ones where he had faltered big time. Where he should have kept his mouth shut and he hadn’t. Where he should have shown some understanding and compassion and he hadn’t. Where he had acted like a first class jerk for nothing. It was like the rope was urging him to get out of there, indicating to him, not at all subtly, that he had a lot of things he could fix in his life.

He knew sooner or later - and it would be for the better if it was sooner - that he had to choose one of those moments, take a leap of faith and just jump into the unknown, but he didn’t want to make a hazardous choice and he wasn’t currently able to think straight. Not that his choice seemed to require too much logic. After all, no scheme he had come up with had worked until now.

And why exactly did he have to fix something if it didn’t guarantee that Richie would be alive? He was coming from a circle where their relationship had been nothing but perfect, yet that hadn’t stopped a fucking car ending Richie’s life. It seemed the poor man was doomed, no matter how tense their relationship was around 2013. Although he hadn’t visited many circles, Jon could say he had seen all the deadly combinations.

Unhappy Richie stayed in the band and got killed? Seen. That was the summary of the first circles. Happy Richie never even thought of leaving, but ended up dead anyway? Seen in the previous circle. Not miserable, not fully pleased, kind of content Richie remained a full time member of the band just to die a year later? Jon could swear this was the scenario he was currently seeing. 

Ironically enough, it was the gaps on the rope that led him to the conclusion that this circle was quite different from the first ones. That this last circle, where he was alive when Richie wasn’t, had taken a different path from the original one in more points than the obvious ones. His missing memories could not all be due to different cities, or dates, or the people that happened to be around them at that point. It would be too much of a coincidence especially when most of the missing moments had something in common; arguments and alcohol. 

The entire 2011 tour was present on the rope, almost intact, except for about two weeks. The ones where the original Richie had been absent because he had checked into rehab. It was possible for those memories to be missing because they hadn’t called Phil in this circle, but given the fact Phil was present now, Jon was sure that, if needed, the guy would have been their choice back then too. 

So he could only conclude that this Richie’s life had been a little less troubled than the one he knew, which should have been good news but unfortunately wasn’t really. Because his heart was telling him to try to create, maybe not a perfect, but surely a better life for his friend, yet his mind kept reminding him that even perfect lives could have an untimely end. Which was clearly what seemed to happen in Richie's case. 

Finding a nice circle was not a game of logic. A didn't always imply B. Sometimes A didn't imply anything and sometimes B wasn't the result of something. Sometimes B was just an accident…So Jon's quest, much to his dislike, was plain trial and error. He couldn't predict anything. He couldn't assume anything. His only chance was to make a change and see where it led him. 

But he couldn't take another landing into a fucked up circle. He simply couldn't. He had had enough of opening Wiki just to see that horrible 'was' following Richie's name and he really didn't want to discover some new and unexpected configuration of his family. Plus, despite the clear evidence that there was no direct causality between what happened before 2013 and the accident, he simply couldn’t shrug off the feeling that Richie’s presence in the band, therefore their closeness, triggered his friend’s sudden death.

It was absurd, he knew, and Denbora would most likely laugh her sexy ass off at the idea, but before he started to mess with this circle, probably to the point of no return, he needed to check if his instinct was right. He needed to see if a circle where they weren’t together was a circle where Richie was alive. Much like the original one was. 

Unfortunately, keeping Richie away from the band without creating havoc or triggering his own heartbreak was not an easy job. Not impossible either. Just not easy.

Jon pushed the comforter on a side, astonished by the idea that took shape in his mind, and slowly moved to the edge of the bed. He remained there for a few moments, his feet touching the ground and his fingers weakly squeezing the mattress, and let himself slip for one last time to that audition that seemed it had become his go-to place for the last hours. An audition that, if everything went as he wanted, would not be a part of the next accessed circle.

Richie was playing his heart out like he had done so many times before and Jon watched him intensely, like he could find the needed strength and courage in his soon to be best friend. As if those slick and fast fingers that were running up and down on the neck of the guitar and those brown eyes that were currently closed could assure him that his idea, although crazy, was the right one to follow. 

Just like it had happened before, the guitarist felt Jon’s gaze on him and for a short moment he fell out of his music trance. Their eyes locked, two pieces of a complicated whole coming together, and it was all it took for Jon’s doubts to disappear. He didn't need more assurances. He knew what he had to do. 

Richie’s small, kind of shy smile was met by a short and determined nod from Jon’s part, and with that, the singer left his younger and mildly baffled version to take control over this body and welcome Richie into the band. 

Once the foggy state of regaining consciousness in the present was over, Jon got up and headed to the bathroom. Before he jumped into a new and experimental circle, he needed to make sure he had a place to come back to. If he wanted to still have plenty of moments to choose from, he needed to make sure this universe wouldn't end unexpectedly, because leaving the events unaltered - his going back strategy that had been thwarted by the time girls - would always lead him here, where this Jon was already standing with one foot in his grave. 

" _ More like one foot and a half _ ", he thought as he saw his reflection in the bathroom's mirror. He slightly shook his head as his arm reached for a clean, white towel. 

"I'm sorry", Jon apologized to the man in the mirror. "I really am", he sighed. "I know you want all this bullshit to end, I get it. But I need you alive…". His fingers tightened around the fluffy towel as he looked into this Jon's tired and sad eyes. He wasn't at all comfortable with what he was about to do. 

"You need to go home," Jon calmly resumed his speech after a moment of silence, like his reflection was indeed a different person, one that deserved an explanation for what was going to happen. "There's only one person who stands a chance of helping you and she's not here. And you…" Jon smiled bitterly, "... as long as you are breathing and vaguely able to sing, you won't stop anything. You won't willingly go back to her…”

Jon knew that, even in this absolutely horrible condition when it was clear he couldn’t and didn’t want to go on, if someone came and told this Jon to stop the tour and take some time off because he really needed it, he wouldn’t listen. If someone told him that maybe it was better to seek professional help, he would start a jihad. Jon also knew that back home it would be harder to make a stupid and ireversibile gesture. He felt bad because he was going to put Dot through all that nightmare again, after all she had suffered because of him, but really, she was his only chance.

He took a deep breath and murmured a last 'forgive me' before he shoved as much as he could of the towel in his mouth. It felt kind of ridiculous to ask forgiveness from someone who he was trying to save but, on the other hand, he was going to kill this Jon. His action could be interpreted as a murder. Just not the kind of murder the man wanted and needed. 

Jon closed his eyes, tears painfully pricking under his eyelids because he didn’t truly have more tears to cry, and then he started shouting as loud and forcefully as he could. He put all his anger and all his sorrow in that shout, all his heart breaks and failures, all his despair and frustration. All his mistakes, bigger or smaller, repairable or not. He shouted for every Richie that had died and for every Jon that couldn’t bear it, he shouted for every loved one that he had gained in a circle just to lose in another, he shouted for himself and for this Jon, whom he didn’t let die, nor live from now on. 

And when he felt he couldn’t do it anymore, when the pain in his throat became unbearable and the muffled yell became inaudible, when he felt his lungs would collapse and his eyes burnt from how tightly he squeezed them, he curled his fingers into the towel, inhaled deeply through his nose and just shouted some more.

His mouth was completely dry and the corner of his lips had cracked when he finally pulled out the towel. He tried to swallow, but the pain irradiated in all his throat with such intensity that he couldn’t do it. He could barely breathe. 

Jon turned on his heels and let the towel drop on the floor on his way out. Behind him, pinned in the mirror, incapable of doing anything except for suffering, this Jon had been robbed of the last thing that had kept him going. Ironically, it was the thing that would have brought his end too. Because this Jon, just like most of his versions, didn’t know, he had never learnt how or when to stop. He always needed someone else to put their foot down and this time there was no one around to do it. He had to save himself from himself.

Jon got out on the hallway, dragging his feet until he reached David’s door. If it had been covered in wet tar, the short corridor wouldn’t have felt so hard to cross as he perceived it to be. He thought about leaning against the door for a few moments, his whole body screaming for some kind of support, but he managed to knock and keep his vertical position.

David furiously opened the door. He was clearly upset, and not even the miserable sight of Jon had the power to soften his attitude.

“What the fuck do you want?” David spat out, his eyes beaming with anger.

“Help...” Jon’s lips mouthed the word but the sound that made it into the air was nothing intelligible. A gruff noise, barely audible, that made David frown, a shadow of concern passing over the keyboardist’s features. 

Jon noticed the small change in his friend, he also saw Tico getting up from the couch - poor old Tico, always trying to improve things between them - but instead of seeing him coming closer and closer, the drummer was slowly disappearing into a milky fog. Jon blinked, hoping his vision would clear, but the white mist engulfed everything, and he suddenly felt so dizzy that he didn’t know where he was anymore.

He felt some strong arms around him, he vaguely registered some panicked voices, but what they were saying he could not tell, and that was all. His last supplies of energy had finally run out and his body had shut down. It was for the better anyway as he was not there anymore. This Jon was on his own now and he could only hope that his drastic intervention was enough to keep that circle available for further comebacks. 

Because he was eleven now. Or twelve. Or thirteen. The truth was he had no clue how old he was. The photos on the rope didn’t come with the date and time stamped in a corner and his memories from that era were kind of scrambled. It all had happened a long time ago and at that point he hadn’t really imagined such a detail would interest someone. Sure, he could look in a fucking calendar or take a guess by the noises that filed the house - was Matt even born or not? - but why the hell was it so important if he had learned how to play the guitar at eleven or at thirteen? What it mattered was he had done it and now he wasn’t going to.

He was not going to cross the street and ask his neighbour to teach him. Not this time. Jon didn’t know why, but he had an inkling that if the band existed, Richie was always going to be part of it. At least in the circles he could access. So if he wanted to keep Rich away, the band should not exist. And that meant only one thing; he had to stay away from the guitar. 

The problem was it was easier to say it than to do it. Seated at the edge of his old bed, in his childhood room, in a house that he wasn’t even sure existed anymore, Jon eyed the walls full of posters and the fateful guitar. This kid breathed music. There was nothing else that made him so excited as those songs he was hearing on the radio did. Nothing sparked his imagination and soothed his soul like music did.

Jon smiled bitterly, reminiscing the moment when he had asked himself for the first time what he was disposed to change to save Richie. He had thought it was just some kind of weird drill his tired mind had come up with before falling asleep and back then he concluded that denying Richie as guitarist was the hardest thing to do. Boy, he had been so wrong.

Saying no to his friend seemed like a walk in the park compared to what he was about to do now, because this was not only a matter of the band existing and being successful or not. This was about him giving up on the one thing that had defined his life.

“Being in a band is just something you do, not what or who you are...Guess it’s time to find out how much bullshit lies in this catchy phrase you like to say, huh?” the kid whose dreams were about to get ruined ironically dared him. 

Jon sighed as he stood up and started pacing the room. He didn’t want to get all melancholic and dewy-eyed at the sight of his old room, but it was damn weird to be there, to be able to see and touch all those objects that were long gone in real life. What if he went out and paid a visit to all those places that had been a big part of his childhood and teenage years but now they looked like Beirut during the worst days of the war? How would it be if he just took his bike out and wandered for a few hours on the lively streets of the early 70s New Jersey? What if he could see those places through his 13ish version’s eyes but filter it through his almost 60 mind? Would they be different from what he remembered?

He was just stalling, maybe for good reasons, but stalling nonetheless. A big part of him wanted to close his eyes and just get back to the present and he had to remind himself that the present was an awful place where nothing was as this kid had imagined his life would be anyway. 

Jon stopped in front of his desk and ran his eyes over the old school books, magazines, papers and cassettes, all those little and insignificant things that were a big part of the boy’s universe. Should he leave some hints for the kid? Give him some guidance if he was robbing him of the only thing he wanted? But what the hell could he possibly say to his not even teenage self? Focus on sport? Go for drama classes? Pay more attention in school and possibly study quantum physics so he could understand what the fuck was going on when he reached the present again? Don’t let the cute girl that would let him cheat on history escape him? 

“You’re on your own, kid”, Jon huffed softly, apologetically yet faintly amused. “I don’t know what to tell you”, he said and stepped away from the desk, hoping he would not be stupid enough to ignore the 16 year old Dot in this universe. Their life would be nothing like the original one - he had already accepted the idea that probably none of his kids would exist here - but at least he and Dot would be together. It was the only soothing thought he had to hang on to. That and Richie being alive. 

The instant flash of his tumultuous school years made Jon turn back to the desk and take a paper and a pen. He didn’t have a clear view over years and dates, but he had a precise timeline of some events that fortunately could now be avoided. If he was going to leave the kid without a purpose in life, the least he could do was to spare him from some pointless trauma.

“ _ Stay away from... _ ”, he wrote down but then stopped as he realized there were several names he should put there. Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Green, the nice blonde lady from two houses away that was always smiling at him...Hell, he didn’t even remember all their names. Or didn’t want to. He shook his head like he wanted to chase away the aftershocks of a bad dream and completed the warning with an inoffensive word. “ _ Stay away from cheeseburgers _ ”. If the kid didn’t get it, so be it. He had already been through that, it wasn’t such a big deal after all.

He put the pen down and went near the guitar. It was time. Jon brushed his fingers over the strings, the slightly out of tune sound filling the air for a short moment. He wondered if he could play something, if his knowledge could make up for the lack of muscular exercise, but then he realized he was stalling again. He took a solid grip of the neck of the guitar and raised the instrument above his head. God, he was happy there were no mirrors in this room because if he had looked the kid in the eyes he wouldn’t have found the strength to do this.

“Rich, you better have one hell of a life, man! The best career, the perfect wife and at least three kids...And stay alive cos I’m doing this for you!” Jon said and then smashed the guitar on the floor. Once, twice, three times. And it hurt like all hell every fucking time, like he was the one being mercilessly knocked on the ground over and over again. 

“Jonny!” his mother’s voice startled him and his arms fell on his sides. “What in the world are you doing with that guitar?”

As he turned to face his mother, he realized he had never thought how it would be to see her young again. To actually face her not to only see her in a picture, be it a real one or an animated one hanging on an imaginary rope in his mind. However, even if he had tried to imagine, he wouldn’t have been close to how he was feeling now.

He stared at her for a couple of seconds, letting her lively and slightly furious image engrave in the back of his mind, then dropped the stub of the guitar and rushed into her arms. He hadn’t known how thoroughly lost he felt until her warm and safe arms closed around him. She smelled like home and unconditional love, things that his child version took for granted and his adult version thought he only needed to provide, not to be offered. 

That was the cycle of life, right? One day you were the helpless baby they welcomed to the world and adored with all their might, the next you were the arrogant know-it-all teeneager who caused problems just because, a snap of a finger and you were all grown up and they had grown old, roles completely changed now. And you were tricked to accept this as normalcy despite the fact that roles could never ever be entirely changed and in every adult there was a little kid who didn’t understand where the safety of his parents’ arms had disappeared. Time was a cruel dimension, that was for sure, and moving back and forth just added a whole new level of cruelness to it. 

“Jonny, honey, are you alright?” his mother asked him half worried, half annoyed by what he had done.

“Mom…”, he mumbled with his face buried in her soft sweater. “ _ No! No, I’m not alright! _ ” he wanted to scream, but it would be useless so he just tightened his hold on her. He was much shorter than her - so he could safely scratch 13 out as the right age - and Jon could not remember the last time he had hugged someone taller than him like that. It felt odd and right at the same time.

His mother ran a hand through his hair and he started sobbing uncontrollably. Maybe it was ridiculous for a grown up man to get that emotional around his mother, but for a kid his age was still acceptable to seek comfort in his parents. And he needed, oh how he needed, some comfort! Someone to come to him and say ‘ _ I got this _ ’ even if it was just for a split second and it didn’t resolve anything.

“What’s wrong? Why did you break the guitar?” she asked him without any trace of anger in her voice this time.

When she didn’t get any answer from him, she carefully detached from him and cupped his face into her palms.

“Hmmm...What happened?” she asked softly.

“I don’t want it!” he blurted out, the tears knotting under his chin even with his mother’s hands partially blocking their way down. “I hate it!”

“But...you like music, you said you wanted to learn how to play…”, his mother was taken aback by his sudden change of heart and by his inexplicable crying.

“I don’t want to anymore! Never! I hate that stupid instrument!” he cried and violently shook his head trying to escape his mother's hold to avoid her questioning gaze. Because he was lying, there was not a single true word in what he was saying, and yet he had to sound convincing as if it was indeed his wish to give up on music. She didn’t let him go and Jon eventually stopped struggling. She gently wiped his tears with her thumbs and, just as he expected, she searched in his eyes the true reason for his behaviour.

Blue met blue and Jon didn’t want anything more than just tell her everything. Oh, how he wished he really was that kid who still believed that his parents were some kind of superheroes that had a solution for every problem. It was obvious his mother didn’t believe his vague explanations. She knew something bad had happened, he wouldn’t have smashed the guitar like that just because he didn’t want it anymore, but she could not find any good explanation. His pain, whatever had caused it, was real and she didn’t have the heart to scold her first born when he was hurting like that.

“Ok…”, she whispered.

“Never, mom! Never! No matter what I say tomorrow or next year! I don’t want a guitar!...” he said between sobs and tears, then hid his face again in her sweater and tightened his arms around her waist. His mother wrapped her arms around him, kissing the top of his head, and Jon sighed so intensely that his body shivered in her embrace.

“Never, never…”, he repeated through gritted teeth. 

“OK, honey…”, she assured him although she wasn’t sure what she had agreed to. She just wanted to calm him down for now. “It’s alright”, she added and Jon truly hoped it would be so. He truly hoped he would not wake up into a fucked up beyond all recognition circle, but most of all he hoped he hadn’t just blocked several sets of circles with this move.

He closed his teary eyes and let himself be drawn back to a present he knew nothing about. Absolutely nothing. He felt the all too well known metallic taste invading his mouth, fear taking over him, but it was too late to back out now. The die had been cast and the past regained its true place in time.

It wasn’t probably true, but he felt as if he had woken up at the exact moment he had reached the new circle. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, primarily being happy he didn’t wake up under a bridge or something similar. Then he realized he wasn’t in Europe anymore. That or he had just taken a nice afternoon nap. He hastily got up, almost tripping in the sheets and eyed the room. Luckily, he was alone there. 

He didn’t need more than three seconds to tell for sure that this was not a hotel room. It was too cosy, even if it was rather simple, and it didn’t smell like one. No matter the number of the stars, a hotel room was nothing more than a temporary place to stay. No visitor could leave a distinct mark on it and he could not say it was this room’s case. This was a home for sure. But where the hell was this home? He started pacing the room, searching for some clues.

The big windows overlooked a nicely cut green lawn and a small barbeque pit, but that didn’t tell him much. It was sunny outside and it was pleasant in the house, but again that didn’t give him much information. 

Two phones had been left to charge on the little shelf next to the bed and Jon had no clue which one could be his. A few books and a pair of glasses were placed under a modern hanging bedside lamp, next to a bunch of scented candles. They had been recently used, they were not only for decor, and their smell made Jon wrinkle his nose. Curiously enough, the decor was not symmetrical and the said lamp and shelf had been replaced by a small nightstand and a funky shaped table led lamp on the other side of the bed. Even the headboard was different. It started with plain white then morphed into different shades of light grey just to end up in a mix of dark grey and yellow.

“OK...so we don’t agree on small things”, Jon chuckled. There was a ring on his finger so he could safely assume he was married. If with the right woman, well, that was soon to be discovered.

He randomly took one of the phones and headed to the bathroom. Or what he hoped was the bathroom. He barely touched the doorknob when the door flew open, revealing the most unexpected sight.

“Ri…”, he started equally astonished and overjoyed but he was quickly silenced by an extended peck on his lips. He couldn’t formulate anything after that, his eyes widened so much it was a miracle they hadn’t popped out of his head, like some cartoon character, and he couldn’t grasp one single coherent thought. There were too many questions running through his mind and too many emotions involved. 

He had thought it would take him a while to locate Richie and he had done it faster than in any happy scenario he could have imagined. The man was right in front of him. But why? Not that he was complaining, but why though? How was that possible? And why was Richie the one giving him a friendly kiss on the lips when Jon was the only one of the two who had a good excuse for doing that? After all those horrible circles he could cover Richie’s faces in kisses until the man would run away from him, but seriously, what was Richie’s reason to meet him like that? And God, how badly did he suck at this circle hopping that he never seemed to correctly anticipate where he was going to land?

“Morning sunshine”, Richie greeted him casually with a big smile and, when he stepped out of the bathroom, playfully smacked Jon’s ass with the towel he had used to dry his hair. Jon almost gasped in surprise and jumped forward at the contact, allowing Richie to shut the door between them and send Jon’s mind in complete overdrive. 


	24. Chapter 24

Thankful for the wall that separated them, Jon groped with his hands for the door and leaned against it when he felt it, solid and stable, under his palms. He needed to sit down for a moment, the swirl of thoughts in his head making him dangerously dizzy. Where were they? Was it his house or Richie’s house? Were they on vacation and it was just some rented house, AirBnB kind of accommodation or whatever the hell that rental site was called? Was it some low budget songwriters retreat? But above all, why was there a ‘they’ in the first place? 

A ‘no’ hadn't been enough to keep Richie away, but that’s exactly why Jon had gone so deep into his past and had taken all the necessary measures to make sure the band would not exist. Last time, the guys had sabotaged him with their coalition, but now there was not much to be sabotaged. Unless little Jonny hadn’t thrown a tantrum over the destroyed guitar - which, now that he thought about it, was pretty much possible - and persuaded his mother to buy him a new one. Which meant this universe had to have some common moments with all the others he had visited until now.

Jon sat down on the cold floor, back still leaned against the door, and closed his eyes. The rope was empty. Completely empty for the last 40 years. The last photos on the rope dated before he had even started highschool. He could fairly assume he had shaken this circle to its core, but then how the hell had he met Richie? And again, he was not complaining, but he was extremely curious.

“Babe,” Richie called from the other side of the door and brought Jon’s train of thoughts to a very brusque halt. “You took my phone again!” the older man giggled and Jon eyed the said object in confusion, not truly understanding what Richie said afterwards. Something about a guy and a studio and that he had to go and why the fuck did he just call him ‘babe’ exactly?! He was the one that had taken hit after hit during the last weeks, but Richie was the one that acted like he had been dropped on his head. Repeatedly.

Jon started to feel a little ridiculous with his tendency of finding shelter into unknown bathrooms all over the world, but remained pinned there nonetheless. He heard the bedroom door being slammed and only after some good two or three minutes spent in complete silence, he got up cautiously and went to the sink. He already had an inkling his looks had changed for the better once again so he wasn’t that shocked when he saw his reflection in the mirror. 

“God, I hope I’m not planning a new baby in this universe too,” he muttered whilst inspecting his only slightly silver hair. The reflection looked back at him amusedly and for a second, Jon got the unpleasant sensation a baby would be his last problem. There was no reason behind that feeling, especially because of all the universes he had visited, this one had the best premises. Richie was alive. Acting a bit weird, but he couldn’t really afford to be picky now about the older man’s quirks. 

Jon sighed and went to the door, taking a moment before slightly opening it and stuck his head out, eyeing the room. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re being ridiculous!” he bristled up and fully opened the door before confidently stepping into the room. There was no reason to hide from anyone.

Jon put Richie’s phone back on the nightstand and took his, but soon realized it didn’t matter whose phone he had. He couldn’t open either because the fingerprint locking feature didn’t seem to be activated and after he had drawn a ‘J’ and he had been denied access, he was left with exactly zero pattern ideas.

“Oh shoot…” he whistled. “This is going to be fun…” he said sarcastically and threw the momentarily unusable phone on the bed. He started searching through the drawers without being sure what he was looking for. Maybe clues about a possible password or maybe clues about the life he had. He would be happy with any of them, but all he could find was rubbish. 

From all the useless objects, a probably very inefficient round bright pink feather duster caught Jon’s attention and he took it, carefully holding it between his fingertips as if the thing could bite him. “ _ The fuck is this thing? _ ” Jon wondered and swayed it a little, the steel rounded cone shape at the end sparkling in the light as it moved through the air.

One of the phones started to ring and made Jon drop the object on the floor. It was Richie’s phone that came to life and on the screen there was a very bizarre name. Louloush. 

“Sambora….living the legend in every fucking universe,” Jon smirked and decided to have some fun with what it could only be one of Richie’s many girlfriends. But as soon as he accepted the video call - why did it seem no one knew how to give a proper simple voice call anymore these days? - it became clear that only fate could have its fair share of fun. The young lady that appeared on the screen looked so like his Stephanie that Jon’s mind went blank for a few good moments. 

“Steph?...” Jon couldn’t help but whisper. 

The dialogue that followed, didn’t help him recover much either.

“Steph?! Who’s Steph?” the blonde woman frowned. “It’s me, Dad! Thea, your only daughter, you know?” she giggled. “Why did you answ...Oh never mind...You took his phone again, didn’t you?” she properly laughed this time. “I told him not to buy the same model cos this was going to happen”.

“Why...why were you calling Richie?” Jon dared to ask. He really didn’t like where this was going. His presumably daughter’s phone number was saved under a very uncommon nickname in his friend’s agenda and all that familiarity…

“So I could pretend I’m still in France?” she asked rhetorically and giggled again. “Because I did it!” she excitedly exclaimed. “I’m in New Jersey...The package has been delivered. Well, not really. Obviously, this package is safely undelivered just yet, “ she said and turned the phone to show her belly. Her round and possibly dangerously close to term pregnant belly. 

“What the fuck?!” Jon outburst before he could think better of his words. His baby girl was having a baby of her own? With…

“I know, I know...It was irresponsible of me to travel at this stage,” Thea interrupted his crazy thoughts. “But come on! It’s his 60th birthday, I wouldn’t miss it!”

All that jumping from one universe to another made him lose any serious sense of time. He was kind of aware of the date, however it didn’t really mean anything to him. So he hadn’t realized until now how close Richie’s birthday was. It hadn’t really been a day to celebrate for him for a few years already. In any circle. 

“Anyway...Since I’m talking to you now, let me inform you that everything goes as planned over here. Dylan and Lenny will join me tomorrow morning and we are all waiting for you. How’s the song going, by the way?”

“Uhm...Good?” Jon really didn’t know what to do with all that influx of information and he clearly didn’t know what to respond to that question. He bent and took the fluffy unidentified object from the floor just to give himself some time. He was still not sure if he was supposed to strangle Richie or not. Why was his pregnant daughter Louloush to him again?

“Pop will love it anyway, don’t stress too much!” Thea tried to assure him, but all she managed to do was to confuse him even more.

“ _ Pop?! _ ” Jon frowned. 

“Dad, what are you…? Oh my fucking god! Dad! Are you kidding me?!” the woman literally cried in disgust. Jon didn’t understand what could have possibly triggered such a violent reaction. “Put that thing away…” she added and in that moment a very heavy penny dropped for Jon as he finally realized what that object was.

“Aaargh!” he involuntarily mimicked Thea’s disgust and threw the fluffy butt plug across the room then rubbed his hand on the side of his pants.

“For God’s sake, no one wants to know what their parents do in the bedroom!” the young woman complained.

“ _ Their what?! _ ” Jon’s heart started beating so hard and fast in his chest, he was one step away from having a rib or two broken in the process. Kind of a medical first. 

“Oh, my poor eyes!” Thea continued to lament theatrically now.

“Gotta go!” Jon said in a rush after the initial shock diminished a little, thinking he would deal with her later if necessary, and ended the call before the woman could add anything else. He didn’t wait for his pulse to lower and stormed out of the room like running could get him out of that circle.

He knew this universe would be special, nothing like those he had seen, but how special could the circles exactly get? And did the UTS show fictional circles too? Cos this one seemed to be straight out of those fucked up stories David liked to read and always tell him about. And maybe Jon had been curious once and read one too. OK, maybe two…or three...  


“Oh no!” Jon stopped dead on his tracks in the middle of what seemed to be the living room. “I swear...if he touches my ass, I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands!” he decreed with his fists closed, ready for attack. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all and sorry for the long delay :)  
> And a special 'sorry' to Live-wiree :) I'm afraid this is not exactly the chapter you were waiting for...We'll get there eventually :)

Feeling equally scandalized and rattled, Jon still couldn't say which scenario was worse. The one where Richie was banging his daughter or the one where Richie was banging him. Both made him shudder violently, repulsion painfully tightening his stomach. The first one had been just a stupid idea, a really stupid idea, and yet his mind couldn’t stop wondering if a universe where something so crazy and absolutely sick did in fact exist. 

“Oh God, oh God…” he cried feeling he was about to puke. How the hell had he thought of something so abominable? Even if he knew there had to be circles where they had never met in their youth and they had never seen the other’s kids growing up, the idea of one of them seducing the other’s child was repulsing. 

And just like that, playing hide and seek between the sheets with Richie became the lesser evil. But how in the world was that possible? What were the chances that two, from what Jon knew, straight to the core men to turn out gay? That was one hell of a question to be added to an already long list of questions he had no answer for. 

A subtle aroma of coffee invaded the room and, with a last shudder, Jon left aside that question and followed the delicious scent. It led him to a modern kitchen and to a coffee machine that announced with a short clink that the miraculous drink was ready. It didn’t cross Jon’s mind that Richie must have left the machine working just for him in what could be a morning ritual. He simply poured himself a cup and then found his way to the front door. 

The weather was indeed nice and Jon stepped outside feeling the sun gently warming his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Where the hell was he? There were tall palm trees on both sides of the road trees, but that detail, although quite specific, didn't tell him much. There were a lot of places where palm trees were common. New Jersey was not one of them though and an inkling suddenly crystalised in his mind. One he didn't particularly like. 

A car was parked in the driveway and Jon moved closer so he could see the license plate better. It totally matched his thoughts but he still couldn't be one hundred percent sure he was actually there. So he went on the street and checked another few cars parked along the sideway. All had California numbers. All. That couldn't be a coincidence. 

"I followed him here," Jon mumbled, astonished. "I fucking followed him here!" he repeated, furious this time, feeling one step closer to the point where strangling Richie was inevitable. What could have possibly brought Richie to California in this universe escaped Jon’s mind, though. In their real lives more than twenty years had passed since Richie had moved to the sunny coast of America, so it was only natural to associate living here with his friend’s wish. 

“ _ With your husband’s wish, _ ” a voice whispered in his head, correcting him, and he felt the coffee dangerously tumbling in his stomach. 

A neighbour greeted him smilingly, obviously wanting to chat some more, but Jon didn't even properly excuse himself and turned back to the house. His theory was wrong again and this universe, although not quite as expected, was nothing but fucked up. A kind of fucked up that he needed explaining.

Since Richie and he were together and both alive and kicking, the wisest thing Jon could do was to go back to the previous circle as soon as possible - because even as soon as possible could be too late giving the state in which he had left that Jon - and then try something else to reach a circle that was more similar to the original one. The forever forbidden one. But curiosity was bigger than any rational thought and Jon was already deep into a scavenger hunt for any clue about this life of his to take into account the dangers of a prolonged stay. 

He was back in the living room now and Jon noticed there was a laptop on the coffee table. He felt that his quest for finding useful pieces of information was about to go faster with that device and he pounced on it, almost spilling the hot liquid from his cup on it in his rush to gain access to the almighty Google. He hadn’t had much luck with the phones, but maybe the laptop would prove to be a friendlier device.

But his enthusiasm faded soon when, after trying more than ten combinations for the password, the laptop remained stubbornly locked. His birthday didn’t work, Richie’s birthday didn’t work, their names in various combinations didn’t work, random letters didn’t work, Thea’s name didn’t work, her nickname didn’t work and God knew when her birthday was. 

Jon sighed and sat back on the comfy sofa, his hands resting on the back of his head. He was angry with the situation, absolutely frustrated, but for some reason he didn’t really feel the need to manifest the feeling physically. Or not enough to send that lifeless laptop flying across the room. It totally deserved that treatment and yet Jon’s arms and legs remained unmoved, just like the device.

He gave it one more chance with his parents’ birthdays and random things he liked but none worked and Jon shook his head feeling completely lost. He found it hard to believe that either he or Richie were very security wise in this universe and he doubted that they had an army of people to protect them like they had in other circles, so that damn password couldn’t be that complicated. He could bet it didn’t even have a capital letter. Or a symbol. So why was it so hard to guess it?

If he still had doubts about the multi universes being real, they vanished now. If he were in a movie or something similar, he would have guessed it on the third try at the latest.

Jon closed the lid, the empty textbox mocking him with its wait for the correct characters, and got up. The living room was bright and tidy, nothing fancy except for the big piano by the window. He went next to it and played a few random notes that nicely filled the room - it had a better acoustic than he had expected - when something else caught his attention. Initially he thought it was a really big book placed on the piano, but when he took a better look he realized it was actually a photo album. 

“Fuck you, Google!” He grinned but his little victory turned into another received hit as he realized what was on the cover of the album. Jon blinked a few times, shell shocked by the image of two hands - men hands - one slightly on top of the other, and a tattoo he would recognize anywhere. A little star between the right thumb and the forefinger.

The problem was the star was inked on both hands and that shouldn’t have made any sense. They were clearly different hands, he didn’t see double, there was no optical illusion involved, no Photoshop either, no matter how hard he wished it would be the case. Jon slowly raised his right hand, cold shivers suddenly going down his back, as his eyes fell on the little star that was inked just between his thumb and his forefinger.

“What the actual fuck?!” he rubbed at that spot with his fingers, wet them, and then tried again and again to erase the black ink, not truly believing that he could have that tattoo. But the little star remained there, despite the skin turning slightly red.

It was a mystery how come he hadn’t noticed it until then, but the real question was how the hell had he ended up with the star on his hand? After all, cases where people hadn't seen something that was right in front of their eyes were not that uncommon, but matching tattoos could easily take the first place for something he would never do. 

"Yeah… Cos shoving a dick up your ass has clearly lost the lead, right?" He found himself quietly bitching. The nausea hit him again at that thought, but among it, a strange sensation started building inside him. A bubbly, almost warm one, like some part of him had gone insane and found that whole situation to be actually funny. 

He wanted to laugh but, with a vigorous shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, he got rid of that unwelcomed urge. 

He gave his body a quick checkup and, for his surprise to be complete, his known tattoos were nowhere to be found. Not a single one. No Superman logo on his left arm, no steer skull on the right arm, no dragon around his ankle. It felt odd to see his skin emptied of those familiar drawings. 

Although he was not an avid fan of tattoos, he was fond, quite proud, of the ones he had gotten. They reminded him of certain events and times that had molded him in the man he was today. Things that this Jon had never lived. Maybe had never even imagined. 

Before even trying to find any reason, he had blamed all the previous Jons for some of their actions. This one too deserved the same treatment, as his actions were more shady and questionable than anything he had seen in other universes, yet this time he couldn't put the fault entirely on this version of him. He was the one that had recklessly scrambled the past so he couldn't blame this Jon for doing this or that. He had left the kid with zero options, he really wasn't in the place to whine about the outcome. 

And yet, how the hell had this particular outcome become possible? How could destroying a guitar at 11 years have an influence on aspects of his life that weren't related to music at all? 

Jon shook his head once again and with a sigh he opened the photo album. It started with old photos of them, of moments that if Jon hadn't known better, he could have easily mistaken for some forgotten ones. In a way, the album was like the rope that allowed him to time travel and Jon wished the photos would come to life and show him more. But that didn’t happen and he had to settle for random captured scenes. 

The era of crazy hair and questionable outfits hadn't had mercy on them in this universe either, and there were a few photos of Richie playing the guitar on a stage. Singing too. 

"Huh…" Jon whispered. The photos were not dated, but his instinct was telling him that at least some of them were newer than 1983. Past the moment when the band should have been formed. It made all the sense for Richie to have continued with his own group, yet it felt eerie to actually acknowledge that Richie Sambora and friends had existed for a longer period. 

If that was indeed the band, because there were no other people in the pictures. There were only the two of them, sometimes together, sometimes only Jon, and sometimes only Richie. It was like the photos had been carefully chosen to be so. 

Jon continued to turn page after page, until he noticed the photos slightly changed. These ones he couldn't mistake for some forgotten ones. He and Richie had never held hands like that and had never ever kissed like that. Not on stage for the fun of it, not for some quirky photo session. Not even behind closed doors, no matter what some people believed. 

The photos must have been in chronological order, because at some point Thea appeared. A cute little baby held by Richie or him and beheld by both of them with all the love a father could give to his child. Her development over the years had been lovingly immortalized and Jon hoped he would find some hints about her mother because the resemblance between Thea and Stephanie was uncanny at any age. 

But no woman showed in any photo and when Thea was about 10 - Jon took a guess by the last birthday party photo he saw - two other children showed up. At once.

"Oh my fucking God!..." Jon exclaimed and a hand flew over his mouth. "Are you kidding me?! Twins?! We have twins?!" In one of the photos, two boys were standing in their cribs, holding on to the wooden edge and partially toothless smiling into the camera. Above their cribs, two names that gave some sense to what Thea had said were written in light blue plush letters. 

"Dylan?! Lennon?!" Jon murmured, astonished. There was no doubt those were the boys’ names and Jon vaguely wondered who had come up with that naming idea. "What the fuck, Rich?! Clapton was taken?!” he snorted without being sure if he found the names clever or cheesy. 

He resumed his browsing just to stop even more shocked a couple of pages later. The wedding ring on his finger should have been enough of a spoiler alert, yet seeing both of them nicely dressed in elegant suits - Jon in dark blue and Richie in black - clearly attending their own ceremony, left him with his mouth open and brain-dead for a few moments. 

“Oh, so the three kids part didn’t escape you, but you just had to make a mess out of the perfect wife, huh?” Jon used sarcasm in an attempt to diminish the impact the photo had on him. Kind of useless, as the joy of both men and the vivid emotion in their eyes didn’t quite allow any hint of mockery. Jon could have sworn that after more than 30 years Richie didn’t hold any more unseen grimaces and faces - yes, even  _ those  _ ones he had seen in their youth - yet that mix of happiness to the point of tears, gratitude, and pride, love and a hint of something else Jon could not name that radiated from the photo was something he had never seen. Or not exactly. Not at that intensity, which made the emotion so hard to describe and identify. 

So he could make all the inappropriate comments he wanted, but that didn’t make the wedding any less authentic. Maybe if they had been dressed in sparkling white, if a rainbow flag had fluttered above their pink crazy haircuts, or if the silhouette of a drag queen had been distinguished as a minister in the background, it would have been easier to question that union. To make it feel indeed as surreal as he wanted it to be. 

“ _ You got married by a sleepy wanna be Elvis, you’re not really the definition of good taste and calculated decisions _ ,” crossed his mind and Jon didn’t understand why his inner self, a part of it at least, turned against him. He didn’t beat himself too much with that, though. He turned a couple more pages, ignoring the tooth-rotting happiness those photos depicted, and concentrated on the hidden message they held. Why were no other people? Why only them and the kids? Didn’t they have any friends? What about their families? Didn’t they agree with their relationship? And if that was the case, were they really that happy? Could they be?

Jon scanned the room to find the place from where the photo album had been taken and found a shelf nearby. There were a bunch of other albums and Jon was about to pick one when he heard a distant melody.

“Oh, shoot!” he exclaimed and ran up the stairs. One of the phones was ringing and he answered at the last moment. He didn’t see who was calling, not that it made much of a difference. He didn’t know his own kids, what were the chances he would know the caller?

“Hey, Jonny! Listen...Change of plans,” an almost whispered male voice said hastily, like the guy at the end of the line was hiding from someone and needed to deliver a message as quickly as possible. "I don't think Rich will leave the studio too soon today…I swear I never saw him so close to smashing a guitar over someone's head as I did today!"

"Huh?!..." was all Jon could come with as a response. Suddenly, the questions about what they were doing for a living took the forefront in the swirl of thoughts Jon had simply given up organizing.

"He will tell you all about it tonight. Multiple times, I’m sure! Not going to ruin the show!” the guy chuckled and Jon didn’t understand exactly if the guy was making fun of Rich or of him. Or of both of them. “Anyway, I’m not really needed here so I can sneak out and come to your place if you still want…”

“I...” Jon mumbled, completely lost. What the hell was that guy insinuating? Jon didn’t like the conspirative tone and he definitely didn’t like the sneaking part. Not when it involved a clueless Richie. He hadn’t been an unfaithful husband in Angie’s universe and he was now? Those happy-sappy photos he had just seen didn’t mean anything to this Jon? “ _ And what exactly do they mean to you, huh? Can’t a man have an affair without you giving your moralist opinion about it? _ ” he snarled at his inner self, the one that shipped the pair a little too much by Jon’s own taste. 

“Although I don’t know how I can help you at this stage,” the guy woke Jon from his inner debate. “The song is done and you play it as well as someone who just learned how to play could do it…”

“Oh...the song…” Jon whispered, his inner self doing a small victory dance as the cheating threat was gone. His practical side registered a small victory too, as the unknown guy had just dropped a hint. He had no idea what song was, or what exactly he didn’t know how to play, but he figured out that it had something to do with the one Thea had asked about. 

“No...you should definitely come! You know I don’t accept anything but perfection!” he continued with faked certainty. In the absence of Google or of any personal device, he had to rely on real persons if he wanted to find out more.

The guy muffled a short laugh and agreed to show up in 20 minutes. Jon ended the call and was about to throw the phone on the bed when the traces of fingerprints on the screen caught his attention. He gave the phone a better look and noticed a big S was the most visible pattern. He followed it with his finger and he gasped in surprise - and delight - when the phone magically unlocked. 

“Ahahaha! Gotcha!” he grinned and held the phone in his hands as if it was the Holy Grail. It was utterly ridiculous how dependent on that device he had become in such a short time, but then again that was his tiniest problem. The phone confirmed his suspicion, he was indeed in California, in Santa Monica more precisely, and gave a name to the guy he had talked to. Nick. So he was waiting for Nick. 

Jon typed in his name and frowned when Google returned exactly zero matching results for ‘Jon Bon Jovi’. It took him a couple of seconds before he rolled his eyes and almost giggled at his own mistake. Half mistake. The fact that the internet had no idea who Jon Bon Jovi was reinforced the idea that he had followed another path in his life, one that was still an enigma. He still had some connections with the music scene, even if that connection was only represented by Richie, but other than that he had no clue about what he was doing. 

Jon put the self searching on Google aside and started looking for some clothes. A few minutes later, clad in washed out jeans and a soft blue t shirt - to his relief, his tastes in fashion had remained unaltered - in front of the big mirror in the bathroom, he replaced the Google research for an on spot investigation. Was this Jon any different from the others? From him? Yeah, he looked younger and he didn’t have the tattoos, but other than that he looked rather like himself. Jon turned as much as he could to have a 360 view over his body and his rebellious inner self didn’t miss the chance to snarl at him. 

“ _ Yeah, you have the ass of a gay man! You always had it, now move on! _ ” But he couldn’t move on, not that easily. Maybe searching for physical differences was indeed a ridiculous idea, but something had to be different. Fuck Stephen Hawking! To hell with Brian May! A doctor would kill for the chance to be in his place and do research on the human brain under those conditions. The line between what was genetic and what was environmental or situational would change for sure. 

Jon never believed being gay was a choice. For him it was simple. You were attracted to the same sex or you weren’t. And he wasn’t. Nothing wrong with it, but he had simply never been interested. Or had he been and had he ignored it? Or had some unexpected life event changed his perception that substantially? The little note he left his younger self maybe?

“ _ What the hell?! I spared myself from wicked housewives and I turned gay?! _ ” That was ridiculous. He couldn’t like women just because of a weird Stockholm syndrome. And what were the chances that young Jonny had actually understood something from that note? Jon put his hands on the cold ceramic of the sink and sighed deeply. He was definitely overthinking. 

“Jonny!” a male voice called him from downstairs and he had to compose himself rapidly. He got out of the bathroom, kicked the fluffy buttplug that rested ostentatiously on the carpet under the bed with satisfaction, and headed for the stairs.

“You’re early,” he informed the stranger in his house, hoping the brunette was indeed Nick. 

“Man, I had to escape from there! Have a bottle of wine ready for Rich tonight. If he survives, he will totally need it. And deserve it!” The guy took off his sunglasses and put them on the counter table, feeling more at home than Jon did.

“That bad, huh?” Jon asked, trying to give the impression he knew more about what Nick was talking about than what he had just learned less than 20 minutes ago.

“This band will be the death of me. They fucked us from all positions with their crazy demands last week and when we thought everything was done, they changed their minds again. This is not good, I don’t like that, this doesn’t sound right...Of course it doesn’t sound right! It doesn’t sound at all! Only bats can hear that shit you want and I wouldn’t put my hand in fire for them either!...”

“Good fights make good albums,” Jon tried to stop Nick’s verbal diarrhea with a joke. Well, a half joke. Some of their biggest hits had a long series of divergences behind them, so the statement was true to some degree. 

“When did you change your mind? You didn’t like their ways either.” Nick eyed him curiously and Jon just shrugged. It seemed impossible to get something truly useful from the guy without risking saying something too suspiciously different from what this Jon would say. He could only hope that at some point Nick would just casually drop the band’s name or say more about what exactly Richie had to do for them. 

“Anyway, let’s get down to business!” Nick said and without any invitation headed to another room. 

There was no doubt now that it wasn’t his first visit there and Jon followed him into a room he hadn’t seen yet. It was a small music studio - a few guitars on a rack, some hanging on the walls, an upright piano, and some basic mixing gear - but what stole Jon’s attention was the memorabilia splayed all over the room. He already knew Richie had continued with his band, yet he hadn’t quite expected the said band to have been that successful. No one could guess from how the house looked that in some dark small room, golden records and other awards, photos from concerts and old posters, showing a very charming and young frontman Richie, were hidden.

“ _ You did it...without me... _ ” Jon was overwhelmed by the mix of pride and jealousy that hit him. 

“Did you manage to rehearse this week without Richie getting suspicious?” Nick asked him.

"Ah?!...” Jon mumbled, barely managing to get his eyes off those photos. Old photos. “ _ You stopped… _ ” hit him more forcefully than the first realization and he turned to Nick with a shocked face. One that he would have pulled anyway as Nick opened the laptop on the desk and unlocked it without asking for the password. “You know my password?!” Jon blurted out.

Nick looked at him like a kid caught doing something forbidden. And just like a kid, a cheeky kid, he quickly came with an excuse.

“Oh, please! Everybody knows it!” the guy shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Did I...Did I tell you?” Jon frowned.

“Jon...seriously…” Nick chuckled. “Your initials in capital letters, a star and your wedding day. Basically anyone who knows you two knows your password and has access to all your laptops.”

“ _ What?! _ ” Jon blinked almost spasmodic, taken aback simultaneously by the fact he had found out the password from someone that shouldn't know it and by the password itself. As it turned out, he had been equally right and wrong about his and Richie’s cyber security awareness. The password contained capital letters and a symbol, but it was so evident that it could just as easily not have them. 

“Work laptops. For your own good I hope you don’t use the same password everywhere…” Nick smiled wryly.

“Of course we don’t,” Jon hurried to answer, although the chances that that statement was false were high, and got closer to Nick.

“Bring a guitar, will you? We don’t have all day!” the guy admonished him but Jon heard only a distant, mostly unintelligible noise barely penetrating the buzz in his head. On the side of the room that he was now facing, the photos of Richie had been replaced by photos of this Jon. 

“What the fuck?” Jon murmured, eyeing in astonishment the pictures where he was surrounded by a bunch of kids, or teenagers, always gathered around a piano. What the hell was he doing? Taught music classes? And was that him dressed in a tux playing a piano on a stage?

His legs moved instinctively to bring him closer to those strange images as if he was in a trance. “Lema?!” his lips mouthed what his brain was trying to grasp. Jon didn’t know what shocked him more - David’s presence or the fact that they were wearing academic robes and caps - but he started to believe things could not get any more surreal than that. 

“Here!” Jon felt the body of a guitar being pressed against his chest and his hand moved at the last second to catch the instrument Nick had let go. “Should we start with your little solo attempt or did you decide to cut it out?”

“I…I never learned how to play the guitar...but...but...I know how to play the piano?” Jon mumbled the question that won him a very pitiful and only slightly confused look from Nick. 

“Yeah...Wish it had been vice versa. It would have spared me one hell of a month!” Nick grumbled. 

“Oh, you think you had one hell of a month?!” Jon retorted. “You know nothing about hell…” he spat out, suddenly fired up.

“Man, I love you both,” Nick became defensive, “and I just cannot wait for this shit to be over! Richie’s all depressed because he thinks no one cares about his birthday and you are all stressed out because of the surprise party...and I just want my friends back!” he whined.

Jon barely suppressed a 'huh?!' and frowned in confusion, before his heavily disoriented brain made all the correct connections. A surprise party made sense and totally fit the conversation that he had had with Thea. 

“So let’s wrap up this song once and for all,” Nick offered. “Richie will love it, no matter how many chords you screw up...and if you get lost, Thea’s got your back with the piano. And if that is not enough either, although I seriously doubt that, the two monsters can jingle the tambourines louder,” he giggled. 

“Hey...my kids are not monsters!” Jon said just because he wanted to check if the said ones were indeed Dylan and Lennon.

“Sure…That’s why you sent them to a summer camp and grinned like two loons in the first days without them around,” Nick said ironically.

“That’s the standard kids-are-away response,” Jon explained, biting back on the last second a ‘you’d know if you had kids’. Who the hell knew if the guy had any children or not?

Nick didn’t argue with him anymore. Instead, he moved behind his back, put his hands on Jon’s shoulders and gently pushed him towards a chair. Then, when Jon was seated, he went to the upright piano and took a seat also.

“Ready?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. One that wouldn’t come as Jon had only questions about this secret party that he was apparently orchestrating and that damn song Thea and Nick rambled on and on about. The most urgent one - what fucking song was that? - got a response when Jon recognized the tune Nick played. However, besides making him breathe a sigh of relief because the song was a known one, that response triggered a whole new series of questions. 

“Did I...Did I write that?” Jon mumbled.

“Oh no...Don’t start like those freak shows that are currently messing with Richie’s patience,” Nick turned to him with an exasperated look on his face. “Yeah, you wrote it like that. It’s nice! It’s more than nice! Now play that fucking guitar, will you?”

“Fine!” Jon bristled up.  _ “I’ll show you playing!” _ he smirked to himself only to have his grin wiped out when his fingers got tangled in the strings. “Huh…” he whispered and then realized that that body-over-mind versus mind-over-body dilemma that he had when he went back to his past was actually one cool topic to investigate. Just like that environment versus genetic one was.

Jon leaned over the guitar, eyeing intently the strings. It was a weird sensation, his brain knew exactly where his fingers should go, yet his muscles weren’t able to move accordingly. Plus, his fingertips burned like all hell. Not the ‘I played guitar for too many hours’ burn, but the novice one, the ‘how the fuck the guitarists do it’ burn. One he hadn’t experienced since he was a kid.

But Jon was good at ignoring pain - all kinds of pain, for the matter - and soon enough his fingers loosened up sufficiently to allow him to follow Nick almost effortlessly. 

“Hey, that’s much better than last week,” Nick slipped between verses, with a broad smile on his face. Jon smiled back and continued to play, and when Nick turned his eyes back to the keys, he let his mind come back to those many questions that haunted him. 

His mind was clearly stuck in that ‘how the hell am I gay’ dead-end, because he found himself scanning Nick from head to toes and wondering all kinds of weird stuff. Like, did he find the guy attractive or not? Should he? He could say if he was physically attracted to a woman in less than a millisecond, but he’d be damned if he found something worthy of interest in Nick. 

And Nick was a decent looking guy, that he could tell. Tall, brunette, greenish eyes, nice smile. There were some things to pick from and yet Jon didn’t feel like any of those could make him feel something even close to interest. Arousal was out of the question. That didn’t happen with women. He didn’t walk among them like a horny animal, wishing to bang each and every one good looking exemplar, but he didn’t have to force himself to say what body part attracted him either.

“Dude…” Nick’s voice made it to his brain. “Why did you stop?”

Jon gave him a lost look - apparently the ability to play while his mind was somewhere else needed some more work in this universe - and put the guitar aside.

“Be right back,” he said and got out of the room, leaving a perplexed Nick behind him. He went straight to the fridge and took out a bottle of beer. Jon quietly thanked God they had not adopted those too healthy lifestyles that killed every spark of guilty inoffensive joy in one’s life, and emptied the bottle.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” Nick asked him when he returned to the studio.

“Have an idea,” Jon grinned and started sliding the bottle on the guitar neck.

“Oh my God….That’s just brilliant!” Nick exclaimed, excited, when the bluesy sound filled the room. “Where did you get that idea? When did you learn that? Rich will so loooooove it…”

“He’d better!  _ It’s his fucking re-orchestration, after all, _ ” Jon chuckled, thinking of Richie’s face when he would hear a song that he had written and rewritten in another universe. Would he recognize it somehow? Would it sound strangely familiar?

“This is perfect! Perfect! You should record and release this after Richie’s birthday. This, my friend, this is a hit!” Nick was more agitated than a toddler high on sugar.

“ _ You have no idea… _ ”, Jon thought. “It would have been in the 80s…” he let out. A vague thought started taking shape in the back of his mind, something about Denbora’s theory about how the circles worked or, better said, about how the humans used them, being a little distorted. Not quite right. But the thought disappeared as quickly as it came, and he just couldn’t bring it back. 

“You know, I always said it’s a shame you and Richie didn’t write more songs together. You inspire each other...” Nick continued his babbling and Jon didn’t know how to ask him what he was talking about. What song had they written together? When? Why? How?

“There’s a reason for that, “ Jon decided to try something vague and possibly intriguing to make Nick say something useful. 

“You having an odd adversity to fame?” Nick quirked an eyebrow with a smirk on his face.

Jon couldn’t stop himself bursting into laughter. That was just ridiculous. He had no problem with being the center of attention. He’d never had one.

“Not to money?” he raised, still laughing. 

“Well…” Nick shrugged and gestured around him. Jon raised an eyebrow questioningly, as that response could be interpreted in different ways, but the brunette didn’t explain himself. Nick checked his phone instead and Jon watched his face changing into a horrified one.

“Shit! Rich is done! I have to run!” He said and hurried to stand up. Jon put the guitar back and then followed Nick to the front door. 

“Thanks for your help,” he said and handed the glasses from the counter table to Nick. 

“Record. The. Song.” Nick nudged at Jon’s chest with the glasses. 

Jon grinned and bypassed him to open the door. “I’ll think a…,” he started to say but lost his words when someone unexpected showed up in the door frame. “Dot?!” he exclaimed. And oh, how wrong he had been about how surreal this universe could get. Because Dot was not alone, in fact she was accompanied by a man. “Bob...Bobby?!?!” he let out in complete shock. 


	26. Chapter 26

It was already the second time on that day that Jon felt his eyes were about to pop out of their orbits. His defense system tried in vain to shut them close, bring the rope in the forefront, kick himself to whatever past moment he could find accessible at first try, and simply foot it from there. But no matter how hard he wished to divert his attention to some other place, his eyes remained glued to the improbable and unexpected couple in front of him.

“Well, hello to you too,” Dot chuckled and stepped inside without an invitation. She put a friendly hand on his right shoulder and kissed him on both cheeks. The bewilderment left some room for a good dash of nervousness to creep into Jon’s mind. He might have used Bobby’s name in a song about forever lasting friendships, but in real life they had lost contact a long time ago. Not under the best of terms and he couldn’t really blame the man. He didn’t repent in any way for what he had done, but the facts remained. He had kind of stolen Dot from him.

“What...what are you doing here?” he mumbled, keeping an alert eye on Bobby. 

“Sticking to the plan?” she asked, equally amused and confused. “What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you just saw a ghost,” she frowned. 

“Bear with him!” Nick chimed in and cut off Jon from agreeing loud and clear to the presence of a ghost. “He’s been like this for a month and he’ll probably get even worse in the next few hours,” the brunette advised her. 

“Oh, hey Nicky!” Dorothea chirped happily and repeated the greeting.

“Hey, Dotty!” Nick reciprocated the friendly kisses. “Long time no see. How have you been doing?” he launched into an interrogatory that consisted more of questions than of answers. Jon stood no chance of keeping up with him, but even Dot, who wasn’t out of step with this reality, seemed to have a hard time with Nick’s verbal abilities and curiosity.

“Amazing…” he heard Bobby amusedly whisper and Jon winced at the proximity of the voice. He turned cautiously and was met by a stretched out hand that he shook reluctantly. “Hey, man!” his childhood friend accompanied the hand shake with a manly pat on Jon’s left arm.

“Hi…” Jon’s answer came out high pitched and unsecure. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Hi!” He repeated the greeting with more confidence.

“I heard you the first time,” Bobby laughed. “Jeez, Jonny, you need to relax! Surprise parties are meant to be fun, you know?”

“Fun…” Jon whispered. He wasn’t so sure that anything with a surprise factor involved could be fun anymore. 

“Oh God! I have to run!” Nick exclaimed. “Bobby, looking good, old dog!” The chatty brunette fist bumped one of Bobby’s shoulders. A jovial gesture that was met by a restrained smile which Nick didn’t take to heart and continued talking. “It was nice seeing you. Guys, have a good time in New Jersey and please, for the love of God, please, Jonny! Come back as normal people, ok?”

“I’ll make sure of that,” Dot assured him with a mischievous smile and gently pushed the brunette towards the exit. Nick finally got out of the house and she shut the door in his wake. “Don’t!” she pinned Bobby with a fierce gaze as she turned to them and cautioned him with a pointed finger. Both men winced simultaneously, out of a habit Jon realized a second too late that he probably shouldn’t have in this universe. “We’ve known him for fifteen years. He didn’t start talking like that two days ago. When will you stop complaining about it?” she asked, losing most of the initial wrath.

“I’m not complaining...I’m just always amazed,” Bobby defended with a shrug, making Dot roll her eyes. And crack a smile, nonetheless.

Jon watched the scene blank-minded. The unusual affectionate domestic dialogue didn’t make any sense to him. “Right…” he finally spoke. “Whiskey anyone?” he asked and turned on his heels. He didn’t expect an answer. He needed a fucking drink and he needed it right then.

“Hell yeah! Make it a double!” Bobby exclaimed and followed him swiftly. 

“Seriously?” Dorothea hissed when she entered the kitchen and saw Jon filling the glasses. Bobby ignored her, clinked glasses with Jon and took a big gulp. Then he held the glass for his wife who looked conflicted for a few seconds before she gave in and took the glass, emptying it.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Bobby outburst excitedly. “You’re not ok with it either...Thank God!” the man raised his arms theatrically and looked to the ceiling. 

Dorothea put the glass down and looked Jon in the eyes. “Fill it!” she demanded without blinking.

“Whoa…” Jon whispered, not fully convinced that he should do what she asked. He had his good reasons for a midday debauch, but what could have brought Dot and Bobby in that state? His wife - " _Bobby's wife_ " his inner self corrected him, igniting a spark of jealousy - was not the kind that drowned her problems in alcohol. 

“That’s the spirit!” Bobby said instead, laughing and friendly patting her on the back. 

“OK…” Jon said and took their glasses. “I will fill these up only after you fill me in. What happened?”

“Jesse!” both answered after a quick and meaningful exchange of glances.

“Aha…” Jon nodded as if what they had said made total sense to him.

"I swear one day soon this kid will drive us crazy!" Dorothea went on. "And, you know, I'm trying to be understanding and a cool, laid back mom. I really am! But sometimes…" she shook her head helplessly. 

"You have a…" Jon started, shell shocked. Luckily, in that moment the front door banged loudly and Richie's voice interrupted him. 

"Jonny, you home?" 

"In here!" Jon responded automatically, just so he could retract that ‘you have a boy named Jesse?!’ from the tip of his tongue. Could Thea’s appearance and Dot’s boy’s name be a hint that this universe was more fucked up than it seemed at first sight?

“Babe,” Richie called, half muffled by the loud noise the keys made as they were thrown on the counter table. Even so, that pet name made Jon shiver almost visibly. And not in a pleasant way. “You won’t believe what those fuck...Oh! Hi!” the guitarist stopped in the doorframe, taken aback by Dot and Bobby’s presence. 

His initial anger melted into a warm smile as he proceeded to greet his friends with kisses and hugs. Jon eyed him cautiously, panic rising inside him as he saw Richie coming towards him, obviously in for a welcome kiss. He was overreacting, he knew that. They had kissed many times and it had never felt out of place. Why would it be any different now? It probably wasn’t, but Jon turned his head in the last moment anyway, making Richie’s lips meet only his cheek. 

“Surprise…” Jon crooned shyly as an excuse for his hesintacy. Richie looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but didn’t voice his confusion. As he turned to their friends he even forgot about it.

“What are you guys doing here? Did you know about this, Jonny?” Richie raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“No,” Dot hurried to answer. “We just came to see Jesse and since you are not that far away we thought we should come visit you.” 

“Tell the truth, woman!” Bobby interfered, winning himself another dreadful look from his wife. “You just couldn’t stand one more minute in that apartment without committing a crime!”

Richie looked at them then eyed the empty glasses and smiled.

“Ah...I see you met the infamous Isabella,” he acknowledged.

“You knew about her?!” Dot exclaimed. “You too?!” she eyed Jon.

“Uhm…” he muttered. He didn’t know what their initial plan had been, but it looked like they had derailed from it. 

“We met her once or twice,” Richie came to his rescue. “Leave the kid alone, Dotty! He’s just having some fun...gaining experience, you know?” Richie winked at her. 

“Oh yeah,” Bobby snorted. “He’s having fun alright! Countless times…”

“Can you blame him?” Richie laughed. “The girl is…”

“Girl?!” Dot cut him off. “Girl?!” she repeated furiously. “The girl is 10 years older than Jesse, she has no real job, no future plans…”

“Except for perverting your innocent boy?” Richie offered, laughing.

“Yeah, exactly!” Dot didn’t find anything funny in that. “Did you also know about taking a year off so he could discover himself?" she air quoted the last words. “Whatever that means…” she huffed.

“Ah...that,” Richie smiled. “Well, firstly, let me inform you that he’s not that innocent.”

Dot opened her mouth to say something but Richie didn’t give her the chance to talk.

“I know it’s easy to blame Isabella for this ‘free spirit’ move, she is an...interesting character after all, but she has nothing to do with it. That’s just Jesse not wanting to be a lawyer but not having the heart to tell you.”

“That’s not true!” Dot protested.

“And he wants to be a lawyer!” Bobby reinforced it. “Damn, I shouldn’t have agreed with a Cali university…”

“Now, now…” Richie moved between them and put his arms around their necks. “You agreed to that because you raised an independent, smart boy who is perfectly capable of deciding what he wants in his life. And because you knew his beloved uncles would be here in case of an emergency,” he grinned.

“Look, I know you didn’t force him to choose the same career as you, Bobby…”

“ _Bobby’s a what?!_ ” Jon barely managed to keep his mouth shut. From all the jobs his friend could have chosen, he had settled exactly for the one Jon had used for ‘Blood on blood’. Sure, being a lawyer was pretty common, but the coincidence felt eerie.

“...but you were so proud when he did that he kind of let himself be blinded by it. He’s young. It’s ok to change your mind when you’re young. Hell, it’s ok to change your mind at any time if you’re not happy with your initial choices. Right, Jonny?” Richie pleaded with his eyes for a little help with his dissertation. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jon gulped and nodded against the sharp pain in his chest. Out of a painful context, that was a simple and healthy life philosophy. Unfortunately for Jon, a change of mind brought him his biggest heartbreak. Even after all those damned circles, even after he had tried everything he could imagine to make Richie leave, his first instinct was to feel stabbed right into his heart when Richie’s departure was mentioned. Even indirectly.

“But sometimes it matters how you put that change of mind into effect,” he continued more to himself, his slightly angry tone making Richie frown suspiciously again at him. It was mainly confusion in friend’s eyes, but Jon suddenly felt as if he had punished the wrong kid for something that was not even that bad. And then his anger turned towards himself. “ _Just how unhappy did I make you feel that you had to leave like that?_ ” he wondered for the umpteenth time in the last six years.

“And that’s exactly why Jesse had a hard time telling you about his plans,” Richie decided to ignore Jon’s strange behaviour. “And, before you start rambling about your son finding it easier to talk to us than to you...I’m looking at you, Dotty,” Richie smirked and turned his head towards her. “Please remember that Thea practically ditched us when she was thirteen, fourteen. For you!”

“That’s different!” Dot protested. Richie arched his eyebrows, a silent ‘is it?’ reading on his face. “Okay, okay!” she huffed. “Maybe it’s not that different...”

“Damn right it isn’t!” Richie approved in a funny uncertain accent. 

“So...Did Jesse tell you what his big life plans are?” Dot made an ironic quote gesture with her fingers and Richie gulped sheepsily before he reached for the bottle. 

“That’s a discussion you’ll have to have with him,” he said and poured some whiskey in the glasses. 

“Oh, no…” Dot hissed. 

“Okay, let’s numb our troubles a little and then forget about them for the rest of the evening. I’ll make my famous pork roast, what do you say?” he asked and offered one glass to Dot. “Babe, can you pass two more glasses, please?” 

Jon, who shivered again inwardly hearing that appelative, did as asked and kept to himself the thought that he didn’t need a fucking glass. He was good with having the whole bottle for himself as an alternative exit from that Twilight Zone. Since when did Richie cook anything? He could set the kitchen on fire just making tea. 

“You have to tell me, Rich!” Dot insisted. 

“Nuh-huh!” Richie shook his head. “So,” he raised his glass, “I’ll drink for annoying, stubborn, egocentric clients. You?”

Dot and Bobby looked at each other and spoke at once. “Kids!”

Richie smiled leniently and turned his attention to Jon. “And you?” he asked.

“Quantum physics!” Jon said and emptied the glass, then put it back on the table with a loud clunk. “What?” he asked when everybody looked floored at him.

“What wrong did the physics department do to you?” Bobby amusedly raised an eyebrow.

Jon glanced between them, wondering if Bobby had just given a clue about his life or not. The pictures where he was surrounded by kids came to his mind, but being a teacher seemed a little far fetched. Who was he kidding? It was more than far fetched.

“They kept the cat both dead and alive…” Jon muttered and the floored stares directed at him accentuated. 

“Okay, I’m taking this away from you,” Richie joked, pushing the bottle aside and gathering the glasses. “And no more science shows before bed!” he pointed a finger towards Jon, making everyone laugh.

  
  


The next three hours had passed without any more epic surprises. Well, except for Richie’s delicious roast. That could definitely count as one. Where the hell had the guy learned to cook like that? And why hadn't he done it in the original circle too?

For obvious reasons, Jon had been mostly quiet and tried to put together all the scattered bits of information that transpired from his friends’ conversation. And when the conversation didn’t tell him much, he examined them. For Bobby he didn’t have a term of comparison. Who could tell how the guy looked like these days in the original circle? Dot had the same long brown hair he knew and loved - and missed, God how he missed her - and maybe she was a bit, just a bit thinner. And she looked happy. With Bobby. Jon felt like he was seventeen again every time Bobby and Dot were being affectionate one to another, and he was constantly feeling torn between jealousy and awkward culpability. 

Luckily, the relaxed atmosphere, the pleasant music quietly playing on the radio and the tasty wine helped him suppress his contradictory urges. He hadn’t punched Bobby and he hadn’t run away either. 

“ _Payback time, huh?_ ” he thought as he looked at Bobby’s hand resting carefree on Dorothea’s knee. Only now he truly understood what she had been forced to live with for most of her life. What he, although not intentionally, had put her through. It was easy to ask for understanding and it was easy to say ‘don’t be jealous!’ when you were not the one constantly seeing your loved one being assaulted by strangers. Or not so strangers in this case.

And then there was Richie. Jon didn’t need to read any biography to say that life had been infinitely kinder to his friend in this circle. Jon could not exclude years of wild parties and maybe some exhausting tours - those golden discs displayed in the other room didn’t earn themselves - but what was definitely missing was that accumulation of too many bad things that would lead to chronic fatigue, depression, and alcohol being a necessity not something to enjoy. 

This Richie was tranquil and that reflected in his physical appearance. It wasn’t only the fact he looked younger. What struck Jon most was that he didn’t bear any evidence of a draining long-time war. His lowdowns - normal in everyone’s lives - hadn’t bordered a catastrophe. Or if they did, he had had a better strategy of fighting them. 

“So, Rich, do you have any special plans for your birthday?” Dot asked and brought Jon’s train of thoughts to a halt.

“Don’t remind me!” Rich gestured with his arm through the air, clearly indicating it was a touchy topic.

“We don’t get any younger, Rich! Don’t tell me you don’t want to celebrate just because you’re turning 60!” she laughed.

“What are you saying?” Richie scoffed. “I wanted a party! Parents, families, kids, friends...Guess what! They didn’t want me!” 

“We’re here! And I don’t remember refusing an invitation!” Dot chuckled and furtively winked at Jon.

“ _Oh, the plan…_ ” it finally dawned on Jon what Dorothea was doing. He didn’t really know if he was supposed to say something, so he just sipped on his wine waiting for a more evident clue.

“We abandoned any idea. Thea is in France and it kills me that we won’t have the chance to be next to her when the baby is born, the twins are in some summer camp, which a certain person didn’t realize how long it would actually last… Okay, we were both eager to get rid of them for a couple of weeks,” he admitted sheepishly when Jon snorted softly. For a whole other reason - cos Jon’s attention had been again diverted by Bobby’s hand moving up and down Dot’s leg - but the timing had been perfect.

“So, okay, we wouldn’t have had the kids around, but I still hoped we could have our families. We haven’t been to New Jersey in a while, it was the perfect occasion. But, nah! Tony couldn’t elude some important conference and I forgot what Matt’s excuse was. But what really made me give up on the idea of celebrating my birthday there is that my own parents...my own parents,” Richie accentuated, “had decided to go on a fucking cruise. Now! When their only son turns 60!” Richie said more theatrically than actually angry.

Dot and Bobby started to laugh and Jon slightly frowned. Something was off with that phrase.

“And I get it, ok? I do! After the cancer scare I don’t blame my father, or my mother, for wanting to have all the fun in the world and enjoy every second, but...”

“ _Your father is alive?!_ ” was the exclamation that got lost in Jon’s coughing that swiftly followed the spattered wine. “S..sorry…” he mumbled and sat up on suddenly insecure legs. He wouldn’t have guessed after the recent events but, apparently, learning a person was alive when you knew they were dead was not easy. It wasn’t as bad as learning the opposite, it wasn’t even as bad as learning the ones you knew simply didn’t exist, but it was not trivial either. 

“Don’t try to cover your folks, Jonny! They adhered pretty quickly to my mom’s dream vacation idea!” Richie joked and Jon smiled absently. He made himself busy with a kitchen roll, wiping his face, his clothes and the table more than it was actually needed whilst trying to grasp that information.

How the hell could a smashed guitar influence people’s life to such a degree? Even if the said guitar was the one that had dictated the course of his entire life, it shouldn’t have had such an impact on others. A music instrument could not trigger or cure someone’s illness. Someone who, moreover, had nothing to do with it. Jon sighed softly, almost indistinctly. It had to be just a coincidence. Or not even that. It was just another thing that, for no particular reason, was different from the world he knew. 

But even if it was good for his peace of mind, Jon could not lie to himself like that. Sure, he concluded some circles ago that events were not necessarily linked one to another and yet he could not say this was the case here. No matter how crazy it might sound, Richie’s dad being alive in this universe was a direct consequence of the guitar being destroyed. No guitar, no band, no intensive touring. No reason to keep the illness secret. No. Even more. Richie being able to urge his father to see a doctor when it wasn’t too late. “ _What the fuck have I done?_ ” Jon wondered as the idea that he had been responsible for much more suffering than he had ever imagined blackened his heart. 

“Right, Jonny?” Jon vaguely heard Dot asking him.

“Mmm?” he mumbled. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard a word from what had been discussed.

“You should come with us tomorrow night,” she said and eyed him confusedly. Silently asking him what the hell was going on and why he wasn’t sticking to the plan. “Since our 4th of July was a total fiasco,” she continued and Richie rolled his eyes, clearly amused by her discontent regarding Isabella. “We can go to the Hamptons now. Have a nice long weekend.”

“I don’t know…” Richie wasn’t very convinced by her enthusiasm. “Plus, I don’t think we can find last minute tickets.”

“The flower power kid worries about organizational shit?” she laughed. 

Jon left aside the thoughts about the destructive nature of his band and grabbed his phone, pretending that he was rapidly typing something. Judging by the amount of work this Jon had put into the orchestration of that surprise party, it was impossible that he would not have bought the tickets months ago. And if this Jon had any trace of resemblance with himself, the tickets were probably the first thing he had taken care of. 

“Done!” he put the phone on the table with a satisfied grin.

“What do you mean done?” Richie frowned incredulously. 

“I mean it’s done. We have the tickets. Any more reasons for why we can’t go?” he asked with a now cheeky grin on his face.

“Uhm…” Richie didn’t know what to say. Jon observed with immense satisfaction how Richie, although still puzzled, was undoubtedly happy about the turn of events. And that made him feel happy too. 

“Perfect!” Dorothea clapped excitedly and rose to her feet. She wanted to add something but she was distracted by the song that started on the radio. “Hey, look at that! It’s a sign!” she giggled and exited the room.

Jon hadn’t seen Dot so giddy in years. Not that she wasn’t happy in their original life, but that childish excitement for a small thing like a party had been lost along the way. It was probably the natural course to follow when you had four kids and a difficult husband to take care of. Jon watched her swaying along the hallway in the rhythm of the song she could clearly not hear, but evidently she knew by heart. And then it hit him. He recognized it.

“That’s...Bed of Roses!” he blurted out. The melody was almost the same and the lyrics were practically unchanged. The only thing that didn’t ring a bell was the voice. He had no fucking idea who was singing. Or who could have written it for the matter.

“Haven’t heard this one in a while,” Bobby said melancholically. “And when you think there was a time when there was no place where you could hide from it,” he laughed. “I once impressed a colleague by telling her that the writer is my best friend,” he said and appreciatively slapped Jon’s back.

“I...what?!” Jon muttered, obviously puzzled.

“Hey,” Richie protested good-humoredly. “I helped too. More with the inspiration part, but I helped!”

Jon’s eyes widened in surprise mixed with horror as Richie’s affirmation sinked in. There was no way he had written that song having Richie in mind. No fucking way! Only imagining the action of laying down a love struck Richie on a bed full of rose petals was absolutely ridiculous. Not hot, not cute, not normal. Plain ridiculous!

“All the women were dreaming of a guy who would write or sing something like that for them and guess what?! The writer never had a woman in his mind! That’s some blow!” Bobby laughed.

“No, no!” Richie corrected him amusedly. “The blow came when they learned even the singer most certainly didn’t think of a woman when performing it!”

“Speaking of which...what happened to the band?” Bobby asked and Jon barely restrained from yelling ‘what’s the fucking band name?!’ No band he could think of fitted the info he had. 

“No idea,” Richie shrugged. “I kept in touch for a while with Cliff, the guitarist, but I haven’t heard from him in years.”

“ _Cliff?_ ” Jon frowned. He was not sure he knew anyone named Cliff, let alone a former famous guitarist.

“Oh yeah…” Bobby smiled pensively. “Cliff the Riff. He was something!”

Jon reached for the phone on the table and quickly typed in that stage name. “ _Are you fucking kidding me_?!” he rolled his eyes then pinned some unclear spot on the ceiling. Circle of Fifths. The band was called Circle of Fifths and, although Jon found that name clever, he also felt someone out there had a very twisted sense of humor. One that the Time girls surely appreciated. 

“What’s this?” Dot came back and tempestuously dropped on the table the photo album Jon had skimmed through earlier. Jon looked puzzled at her - she surely resembled more the Dot he knew now that she was slightly furious and bossy - and Richie started to laugh.

“Yeah, Jonny, what’s that?” He seconded her amusedly.

“Uhm...a photo album?” Jon went for the obvious. 

“Duh!” she rolled her eyes. “What kind? It makes you feel like you don’t have any family or friends!”

“Ok, don’t want to say ‘I told you so’, but...I told you so!” Richie giggled. 

“It was just...I was just…” Jon stuttered. What was he to say? He had had the same impression when he had seen the pictures. And he was surely glad his impression had been wrong. “It was just an idea...I’ll put them back,” he said sheepishly.

“You’d better!” she warned.

“Hun,” Bobby interfered. “We better get going before you reorganize their whole life,” he laughed. 

Brave man this Bobby, Jon thought. But Dot didn’t unleash her inner warrior as Jon expected. She only gave her husband a dreadful look which announced trouble for later. If the drive back was long enough, he actually might have a chance to sleep on a couch.

“We were there, Jonny,” she explained calmly, a hint of hurt in her voice. “In high school, when you met, when you first hooked up and you freaked out…” she continued. Richie snorted softly, probably remembering all too well that moment, and Jon wished he could crawl under the table and maybe forever stay there. “We were there through all the ups and downs, career wise or personal, we were there when the kids were born. Thea’s first day at home when we all panicked cos none of us knew what to do. We have pictures from that memorable night! And then, when you officially got married...we were there for you! Just like you were for us…”

Richie stood up and hugged her.

“Oh, Dotty!” He kissed her forehead, holding her head in his hands. “I’m turning 60 and you’re the nostalgic one!” He couldn't help a bit of joking. The atmosphere had become too serious for a casual dinner. 

“I’m not nostalgic!” she defended. “I was scolding him!”

“Hey!” Bobby complained jokingly. “The scold I usually get doesn’t look like this at all!”

“That’s because you’re not cute!” Jon, with the best nonchalant grin he could pull off, tried to keep the conversation in the funny spectrum.

“Always the modest, Bongiovi!” Dot snorted. “You know very well I can be immune to cuteness!”

“Don’t we all?” Richie chuckled. 

“You’re not the birthday boy yet, Rich! Be careful!” she cautioned but Richie simply hugged her again. They sure were better friends here than they had been in the original universe. “And my not cute but dear husband is right,” she said when Richie let her free. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

Bobby and Jon got up from the table too and the four of them headed to the exit. After the guests took their leave and the door closed in their wake, without any word, Jon hurried back to the dining room and made himself busy clearing the table. 

“I’m going to hit the shower!” Richie announced him already taking the stairs to the up floor. Jon didn’t know if that had been only informative or a deliberate invitation, and he didn’t care. He was determined to stay there until Richie was sound asleep. 

“ _Or you could simply get out of here instead of hiding from him,_ ” he thought. There was no reason to stay there any longer. Moreover, it was contraindicated. What else did he need so badly to find out? Rich was fine, Dot was fine. His theory was wrong and, after all appearances, this Jon had a pretty nice life. Nothing like he expected, but nice. Did it really matter what his job was? Or who was Thea’s mom? Or how the hell he and Rich got together? 

Jon turned the faucet on and started to wash the dishes just to give himself something to do. He closed his eyes and visualized the almost empty rope. He tried, he really tried to create some images for the events Dot had mentioned. But he couldn’t. Even with the pictures from the wedding clear in his mind, he couldn’t place a vivid picture of that day on that fucking rope. 

It didn’t matter anyway. This universe was too different from the one he knew. From what he wanted. There was no simple change to be made and turn it into something desirable. 

“You know we have a dishwasher,” Richie braced him from behind and stuck his cheek to the nape of Jon’s neck. Jon stilled, forgot to breathe, and almost dropped the soapy dish.

“I know,” he tried to sound casual. “It’s relaxing.”

“Mmmm,” Richie nuzzled his neck. “You tense, babe?” he asked him playfully.

“No!” Jon turned off the water with a brusque move and escaped Richie’s arms reaching for a towel. “But you must be pretty tired after today,” he said in a softer tone.

“I’m beat,” Richie agreed with a sigh.

“Then why don’t you go to sleep and I’ll finish here?” Jon offered. 

“I probably should. Hell unleashed, umpteenth part tomorrow at the studio,” he grumbled.

“Go,” Jon smiled understandingly. “I won’t be long.”

Richie grabbed Jon’s t-shirt and pulled him next to him. Although stiffer than a dead man, Jon didn’t avoid Richie’s kiss this time. He was drunk enough to reluctantly accept a goodnight kiss. 

“‘Night babe,” Richie mumbled against his lips. “Love you.”

“‘Night,” Jon whispered against the lump in his throat. Only when he heard the bedroom door being closed, he finally let go of the breath caught in his lungs. He loved the guy, he really did. Just not like that.

Jon spent ten more minutes circling the kitchen doing mostly nothing. He poured himself the leftover wine then moved to the living room. He laid on the couch and unlocked his phone. Maybe he couldn’t find on Google who he was, but he could still read a thing or two about Richie. And fuck it! Only the fact the Wiki page didn’t start with ‘Richard Stephen Sambora was...’ was a good enough reason to stay at least for the night.


End file.
